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RECOMMENDATIONS. 


From Rev. Mr. Seager, Prof, of Mental and Moral Philosophy. 

Having been kindly favored by the author ofSweet’s Practi¬ 
cal Elocution,” with a perusal of its preface, contents, and the 
first hundred pages which have been issued, I feel no hesitancy in 
pronouncing it the best book for classes in reading and elocution¬ 
ary exercises, that I have ever examined. 

It is not a little surprising, that among all the books on elocu¬ 
tion, no one has seemed to meet the demands of the public. Most 
writers of such works, appear to have misapprehended the primary 
intention of a reading book , particulurly in our higher schools and 
seminaries. 

Among other things which distinguish Professor Sweet’s work, 
may be mentioned, its extensive variety in the selections from the 
most celebrated writers on elocution, both ancient and modern ; the 
judicious arrangement of the subjects which claim the learner’s 
special attention ; the simplicity of the rules which, however, are 
sufficiently explicit; and the numerous historical and explanatory 
notes, appended to the several pieces. Such a work, I think,can¬ 
not fail to meet with a welcome reception, by the friends of edu¬ 
cation. So well satisfied am I of the merits of this work, that I 
have resolved to introduce it into this institution, immediately on 
its appearance from the press. 

Professor Sweet is very favorably known to the public as a Lec¬ 
turer on Elocution; and his book combines the principles taught 
in his lectures, together with many illustrations, so appropriate as 
to render it both interesting and useful. 

I cannot but hope that this volume will find its way into our 
academies, seminaries, and colleges, and contribute to elevate the 
standard of public taste, in regard to a most important, but hitherto 
neglected branch of polite education,— practical elocution. 

SCHUYLER SEAGER, 

Lima, July £0, 1839. Principal, Gen. Wes. Sem’y. 


From the Faculty of the “ Theological and Literary Institutionat 
Hamilton. 

Professor Samuel N. Sweet has given instruction in the princi¬ 
ples and practice of elocution, to the students of this seminary, 
for the last two weeks. We have had the pleasure of attending 
a number of his lectures, and have been much gratified to witness 
the results of his instructions, particularly in the manifest improve¬ 
ment of the voices of his pupils. We consider his mode of teach¬ 
ing elocution, admirably adapted to give strength, compass, flexi- 





RECOMMENDATIONS. 


bility, and smoothness to the voice; and that those who attend 
his course of lectures, may be much benefitted in these important 
respects. 

NATH’L KENDRICK, D. D., Pres. & Prof, of Theo., 
GEORGE W. EATON, A M., Prof, of Math. & Nat. Phil., 
TH. J. CONANT, A. M., Prof, of Heb. & Bib. Grit. & Int., 
A. C. KENDRICK, A. M., Prof, of the Greek & Latin Lan. 
Hamilton, N.Y., February 8, 1837. 

From Thomas Allen, A. M., Counsellor at Law , now (1839) Edi¬ 
tor of the Madisonian , at Washington , and Printer to the House 
of Representatives of the United (States . 

Julius Rockwell, Esq., 

Dear Sir :—Permit me to introduce to you, my friend, 
Mr. Samuel N. Sweet. Mr. Sweet is a Professor of Elocution, 
and he understands that science, I am confident, better than an/ 
individual I have ever seen. His elocutionary exercises afford ; 
gymnastic training- to the voice, at once highly interesting in its 
details, and practically and eminently beneficial in its results. 
Any courtesy you may extend to him, will much oblige 

Your obedient servant, 

NewYork, May 25, 1836. THOMAS ALLEN. 

From the Rev. Mr. Church, author of “ Philosophy of Benevolence 
and “A Prize Essay on Religious Dissentions. ,i 
Few persons are aware of the extent to which the art of persua¬ 
sion is indebted for its success, to mere intonation and manner. 
From these, the hearer derives his first impression, and this deter¬ 
mines with many, their final judgment of the man and his dis¬ 
course. A finished delivery is, perhaps, too freely admitted as an 
apology for the deficiencies of matter ; while an awkward mode 
of expressing the weightiest sentiments, will seem to deprive them 
of much of their force and loveliness. These considerations, 
therefore, cannot but impart great value to such labors as those in 
which Professor Sweet has been engaged for several years past, 
the fruits of which, he has embodied in his work on “ Practical 
Elocution,” for the purpose of elevating the standard of elocution 
in our systems of education. 

This book, if I mistake not, will be found a useful guide to right 
inflections of voice in speaking and reading, and to an appropriate 
manner of imparting to others the convictions ©f our minds. Its 
analysis of the simple sounds, its directions for framing the organs 
to produce them with distinctness, and its explanation of the vari¬ 
ous combinations of those sounds to which we are impelled by 
naturein expressing our sentiments of joy or sorrow, of beauty or 
sublimity, of elevation or depression, will be found not only inter¬ 
esting to the reader, but of service in acquainting him with many 
of those principles which enter into the philosophy of elocution. 
And besides the specimens which it gives from the most approved 
authors, ancient and modern, accompanied as they are, by hittork 




RECOMMENDATIONS. 


cal sketches, will be found both instructive and entertaining 1 , at 
the same time that they furnish exercises to illustrate the princi¬ 
ples of the work, and to assist in reducing them to practice. 

The work will appear before the public with the best wishes for 
its success, on the part of the subscriber. 

PHARCELLUS CHURCH. 

Rochester, N. Y., July 31, 1839. 


From the ‘'Law Association of the City of Neio York .” 

The following resolution was adopted at a meeting of the Board 
. Trustees of the Law Association of the city of New York, 
held on the 13th of April, 183d, of which W. H. Roosevelt, Esq. 
was Chairman, and C. VV. Van Voorhis, Esq., Secretary : 

Resolved , That the thanks of this meeting be tendered to Pro¬ 
fessor Samuel N. Sweet, for his able and interesting lecture on 
elocution, delivered before the “ Law Association of the city of 
New York,” at Clinton Hall, on Monday, the 11th instant. 


Letter of the Rev. Dr. Penney , President of Hamilton College , ad¬ 
dressed to the Rev. Dr. Hale , President of Geneva. College. 

Dear Sir :—Permit me to introduce to you, S. N. Sweet, 
Esq., Professor of Elocution. He has instructed in this vicinity, 
and given specimens in college, very satisfactorily to all who have 
heard him. I doubt not, you will agree with me in believing that 
the influence of such an impulse as his instructions give to our 
youth, on this subject, must be decidedly favorable. 

Your obedient servant, 

JOSEPH PENNEY, 

Clinton, March 8th, 1839. President, Hamilton College. 


From William S. Bishop , Esquire , Counsellor at Law. 

S. N. Sweet, Esq., 

Dear Sir :—I have had the pleasure of examining your 
“ Practical Elocution,” and am happy that so valuable a publica¬ 
tion is to be issued from the press, for the use of our seminaries 
of education, and for private gentlemen. Among the great num¬ 
ber of books to aid in teaching elocution, and for reading books, I 
have never seen one so happy in its selection of appropriate ex¬ 
tracts, as your manual. I have but little doubt that it will meet 
with the success which it so richly deserves, and I trust that it 
will soon become a standard work in our colleges, academies, and 
common schools. I think that the notes appended to the selec¬ 
tions, relative to distinguished individuals, and events alluded to 
in the pieces, will add much interest to the work, and be very in¬ 
structive to learners. 

I had the opportunity of hearing you lecture last winter, at the 
capitol in Albany, and also have had the means of learning your 
manner of instruction on other occasions ; and am satisfied that it 
our young men could be induced to attend to your instructions and 
system of teaching, they would derive more benefit, than from any 





RECOMMENDATIONS. 


other system or teacher. Your manner of teaching the simple 
elements of sound, and then leading your pupil to the higher art* 
of oratory, cannot fail to make the voice smooth and flexible, and 
give it compass and power. Your book, embracing and illustra¬ 
ting your system, if generally circulated, would be of vast benefit 
to our country. 

With hopes of success equal to the merits of the work, 

I am your obedient servant, 

WILLIAM S. BISHOP. 

Rochester, N.Y., August 1, 1839. 

From the New York Family Magizine , May 1, 1836. 

We were much gratified in listening to a lecture on elocution, 
delivered in April, 1836, at Clinton Hall, New York, bv Professor 
Samuel N. Sweet, at the request of the Law Association of this 
city. It was shown in a conclusive and interesting manner, that 
no one could be an accomplished elocutionist, without study, prac¬ 
tice, and a knowledge of the elements of the English language. 
The follies of bad speakers, and, indeed, the mischiefs occasioned 
by them, were effectually exposed and judiciously censured. 
Critical specimens of recitation and excellent imitations, were 
well given, and received deserved applause. 

From Rev. Timothy Clowes, LL . D., Principal of the “Clinton 
Liberal Institute.” 

Samuel N. Sweet, Esq. has just completed a course of lectures 
and instruction in rhetoric and elocution, before a class of about 
forty pupils attached to the “ Liberal Institute.” Having atten¬ 
ded the greater portion of these lectures, I am enabled to state, 
that they have had a very beneficial effect upon the young gentle¬ 
men who belonged to the class. The instructions of Professor 
Sweet, have tended very materially to improve the pupils in dis¬ 
tinctness of articulation, fulness of voice, variety of inflection and 
cadences, in the proper position of emphasis, and in freedom of 
gesture. Being convinced of the eminent abilities of this gentle¬ 
man in his profession, I readily commend him to the favorable at¬ 
tention and patronage of other literary institutions. 

TIMOTHY CLOWES. 

Clinton, N.Y., March 6, 1839. 


From Mr. Bril tan, Professor of Languages, in the “Rochester 
Collegiate Institute.” 

Professor S. N. Sweet, 

Dear Sir :—From the examination which I have given 
your work on elocution, I am convinced that it is well adapted to 
secure the important purposes for which it is designed. Your 
general remarks on elocution, are pertinent and elevated ; your 
rules and definitions are few, simple, and highly practical; your 
illustrations and selection of pieces, are admirable , evincing ex¬ 
tensive research and a discriminating taste. The historical and 





RECOMMENDATIONS. 


explanatory notes appended to almost every piece, give additional 
interest, at the same time they enable the reader to enter with 
spirit into the meaning of an author. 

NATHAN BRITTAN. 

Rochester, August 2, 1839. 


I From Honorable Francis Granger. 

Mr. Henry Howe, 

My Dear Sir :—It gives me pleasure to introduce to 
your acquaintance, Mr. S. N. Sweet, who visits our village with 
j the desire to obtain a class for lectures upon elocution. I have 
known Mr. Sweet for many years, and believe that his qualifica¬ 
tions are such as to give entire satisfaction, to which he adds 
great moral worth. 

It would have given me pleasure to have been at home when 
Mr. Sweet visits Canandaigua, but as I fear that will be before my 
return, I take the liberty to claim for him your attention and ad¬ 
vice. Let me also request for him an introduction to such gentle¬ 
men as he may desire to know. 

With respect and esteem, 

Lockport, June 19, 1838. FRANCIS GRANGER. 


From Mr. Henry Howe , Principal of the “Canandaigua Academy.” 

Rev. J. W. French, 

My Dear Sir:—I introduce, with much pleasure, 
the bearer, Professor Samuel N. Sweet, a teacher of elocution. 
He has spent about two weeks in this place. He gives 
I public lectures on elocution, interspersed with imitations of 
good and bad speakers, which are both amusing and instructive. 

; He also gives lessons to classes. He has had a class in “ Canan- 
| daigua Academy.” I have been interested in his mode of teach- 
i ing. I think it philosophical, admirably adapted to expand and 
improve the voice, to give a great command of it, arid soften it, as 
well as strengthen it. Mr. Sweet is a gentleman of high moral 
I; character, possessing much information, and ardently devoted to 
j one object. The flexibility, harmony, and compass of his voice, are 
wonderful. I respectfully solicit your exertions in his behalf. 

I am very truly yours, 

Canandaigua, Aug. 3, 1838. HENRY HOWE. 

From the Albany Argus , of May 28, 1836. 

The passengers on board the steam-boat Champlain, on its way 
from New York to Albany, May £6th, were edified and delighted 
by a lecture on elocution, delivered in the ladies’ drawing-room, at 
I the particular request of a number of gentlemen, by Professor 
Samuel N. Sweet. With a view to benefit those whose peculiar 
I interest it is to be familiar with that art and science, by directing 
their attention to Professor Sweet, as well as to express their 
! thanks to that gentleman, for his politeness in delivering said lec¬ 
ture, they resolved themselves into a meeting, by calling Hon. 







RECOMMENDATIONS. 


R. M’Clellan, of the State of New York, to the Chair, and ap¬ 
pointing Colonel R. M. Lee, of Philadelphia, Secretary; when 
the following resolutions were passed : 

Resolved, That the thanks of this meeting be tendered to Pro¬ 
fessor Sweet, for his useful and interesting lecture on elocution, 
delivered before a large number of ladies and gentlemen, in the 
ladies’ drawing-room, in the steam-boat Champlain, on the North 
River, on the £6th instant. 

Resolved, That the manner and method of Mr. Sweet, his reci¬ 
tations, add his imitations of our various distinguished statesmen, 
are eminently calculated to make a lasting impression on the 
mind, correct the prevailing evil of bad reading, and properly 
qualify the public speaker for his important office. 

Letters of recommendation, too numerous to publish, have also 
been received by the author, relating to his lectures, from many 
other gentlemen of the highest respectability, the most brilliant 
talents, and eminent moral worth, in his native State, among whom 
are the following.: 

His Excellency WILLIAM H. SEWARD, 

Governor of the State of New York. 

The Reverend SIMEON NORTH, A M., 

President of Hamilton College. 

Hon. WILLIAM BAKER, Canal Commissioner, Albany. 

Hon. JOHN B. SKINNER, Middlebury , N. Y. 

Hon. T. R. STRONG, Palmyra. 

The late Hon. SAMUEL M. HOPKINS, Geneva. 

WILLIS HALL, Esq., Attorney General of the State. 

Hon. JOHN GEBHARD, Schoharie. 

Hon. JAMES HAWKS. Rochester. 

Rev. ALFRED E. CAMPBELL, Cooperstown. 

Rev. F. G. HIBBARD, Perry. 

Rev. DOLPHUS SKINNIER, Utica . 

Rev. W. C. LARR.ABEE, Principal,Wesleyan Maine Serain’y. 
Rev. RICHARD DE FOREST, Rochester. 

Rev. JOHN COPELAND, Buffalo. 

The late Rev WILBER HOAG, Spring water. 

Rev. A. B. GROSH, Utica. 

Hon. MYRON HOLLEY, Rochester. 

Rev. STEPHEN R SMITH, Albany. 

Rev. W. WARD NIND, Adams. 

Col. ELISHA CAMP, Saclceits-Harbor. 

A. HYDE COLE, Esq., Counsellor at Law, Albion. 

GEORGE HOSMER, Esq, Counsellor at Law, West-Awn. 
TIMOTHY FITCH, Esq, Counsellor at Law, Batavia. 

C. D. LAWTON. Esq , Counsellor at Law, Clyde. 

Rev. W. H. GOOD vV IN, Rochester. 

ABNER HO LISTER Esq, Cato. 

WILLIAM T. SEARLES, Esq., Ellisburgh. 

W. A. IRVING, A. M., Ithaca. 



PRACTICAL ELOCUTION: 


CONTAINING 


ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE PRINCIPLES OF 


lEADING AND PUBLIC SPEAKING. 


ALSO, 


A. SELECTION OF THE BEST PIECES FROM ANCIENT A*D 
MODERN AUTHORS, ACCOMPANIED BY EXPLANATORY 

NOTES. 


HE WHOLE ADAPTED TO THE PURPOSES OF IMPROVEMENT SN 


READING AND ORATORY. 




BY SAMUEL NILES SWEET. 


* “ Delivery bears absolute sway in oratory.”— Cicere. 


ROCHESTER, N. Y. 

PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM ALLING, 

ND SOLD BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT 
THE UNITED STATES. 



1839 . 

•H 









HI 01 
fir] 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the sixty-third yes 
of the independence of the United States of America, and in tb 
year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-nine, b 
SAMUEL N. SWEET, in the Clerk’s Office, of the Distri. 
Court oTthe United States for the Northern District ofNew-Yor] 









No branch of education can be more successfully and advan- 
geously applied to the great and practical purposes of life, than 
locution. It is in the most frequent use of any other faculty 
ith which our nature is endowed. Whenever we exercise the 
•gans of speech, whether in conversation, reading, or public 
leaking, we employ some of our powers of elocution. Through- 
it all the diversities of rank and sex, including kings and beg- 
irs, every individual begins to practice it, the second, if not the 
|st year of their existence. It is but another word for the faculty 
’speech,—a faculty which elevates man above the brute creation, 
id which should not be permitted to 

-“ rust out unused,” 

id unimproved. That the reading or speaking voice, as well as 
e pinging voice, is susceptible of almost an unlimited degree of 
iltivation, is a truth, with a conviction of which, men have been 
teply impressed, in all ages of the world. Especially is this true 
the citizens of Greece and Rome. They paid great attention 
the art of eloquence , as it. was called in ancient times ; now, 
opution; which is “ the rose by another name ;” and we learn 
)m history, that their labors were rewarded with very beneficial 
suits. 

Passing over in silence, other great and immortal names, let us 
tect our attention for a moment, to Demosthenes, Cicero, and 
iricles. Nature did not very liberally provide Demosthenes with 
»wer of speech. He, however, possessed genius in an eminent 
gree. And yet, without industry , his name would have “ moul- 
red in oblivion.” By undying perseverance in the pursuit of 
atory, and by unremitting attention to the principles upon which 
•od speaking is founded ; he acquired an eloquence which “as- 
nished all Greece.” We may say of him without any poetical 
•ense, he spoke, 

“ Confusion heard liis voice, and wild uproar stood ruled.” 

; .cero, by close application, reading, and declaiming, rendered 
3 voice so melodious, powerful, and thrilling, that it hushed the 
:>man senate into silence, and made “ great Caesar” himself 
jmble on his seat. Pericles so successfully cultivated the noble 




IV 


PREFACE. 


art of ©locution, that with him, manner was almost matter. / 
incident is related in history, which may serve to give us an id* 
of the power of his eloquence. Thucidides, although an enemy j 
Pericles, when asked which was the best wrestler, answerecj 
“ Whenever I have given him a fall, he affirms the contrary, j 
such strong and forcible terms, that he persuades all thespectatoi 
that I did not throw him, though they themselves saw him on tl 
ground.” Those three renowned orators adopted in early life, tl 
excellent motto, that “ nothing is given to mortals, without ind 
fatigable labor.” Discarding the absurd notion, that the got 
made orators, or that they were born so, they acted upon the tri 
principle, that however much or little nature had done for ther 
they would rely exclusively and entirely upon their own exertion 
The docility of Demosthenes, Cicero, and Pericles, through lit 
and the care and success with which they cultivated the seiene 
of speaking well, afford examples worthy of universal imitatio 
from the President of the United States, members of congress, ar 
of State legislatures, lawyers, clergymen, conductors of literal 
institutions, and other gentlemen of public consideration, down 1 
the humblest citizen of our republic. Those peerless orators in 
niortalized their names by “ patient labor, and patient labor only. 
If they excelled Americans, or any other men that the world eve 
produced, it is because they devoted time, money, and labor to tl 
improvement of their manner of speaking. 

Who docs not know that inattention to a subject, is tantamom 
to ignorance of it? Knowledge is not intuitive. The infai 
grasps alike the near flame, which would burn him, and the brigl 
orb of day, which he cannot reach. It is a truism , but, neverthi 
less, one which is too often practically disregarded, that we kno’ 
little or nothing, except what we learn. Why, then, talk so muc 
of nature’s orators ?” Cicero says, that the “ poet is born, bi 
the orator is made.” Nature, doubtless, makes a great differenc 
in the capacities with which she endows her children ; but ai 
makes a still greater difference. In an excellent letter addresse 
to a young man engaged in the study of law, the late Hon.Williai 
Wirt, truly observes, that “ it is a fiat of fate, from which e 
genius can absolve youth, that there is no excellence without grei 
labor.” 

It is to be regretted, that while great attention is paid to musk 
little or none is besflpwed upon elocution. Vocal music is more gra 
tifyingthan instrumental, because the human voice,whether its note 
are heard in song or speech, is the noblest and sweetest instrumen 
of music in existence. It, however, differs from a musical instru 
ment in this respect, among others: it is capable of producing a 
infinite variety of sounds. By the tones of the voice, may bt 
expressed, not only all the operations of the mind, but every emo 
tion implanted by the hand of nature, in the heart of man, Tht 
best readers and speakers are not governed by particular rules 
They read and speak “ right on.” They do not stop to give f 
lining inflection of voice, here j a falling, there ; and a circumflex 



PREFACE. 


V 


elsewhere. Dr. Goldsmith says, that 44 to feel our subject 
thoroughly, and to speak without fear, are the only rules of elo¬ 
quence.” It is cer ain,that in order to be eloquent, we must sur¬ 
render ourselves to the spirit which stirs within us, and the 
44 mouth” must speak “ from the abundance of the heart.” Being 
perfectly satisfi d with nature’s system of elocution, the author 
has not presumed to lay down a series of artificial rules in the shape, 
either of marks of inflection or rhetorical notation, in the vain 
hope of attempting to make a better. Those extraordinary endow¬ 
ments of intellect, of imagination, and of sensibility, which are 
derived from nature, and without which, pre-eminence in oratory 
is unattainable, are possessed by few men in any age or country. 
But all may learn to read and speak correctly and impressively, 
by becoming familiar with the elementary sounds of our language, 
and the other important principles of elocution, and by engaging 
in practical elocutionary exercises. 

This work contains a great variety of pieces, all of which are 
suitable, both for reading, and for exercises in recitation. There 
is no good reason for drawing a line of demarcation between 
reading and speaking. To excel in either, requires a cultivated 
voice, and a knowledge of elocution. In both, and in one as much 
the other, the principles upon which elocution is founded, are in¬ 
volved. Similar exercises, therefore, if not the same, are required 
to become either a good reader or an accomplished speaker. The 
introductory part of this work, comprises suggestions on elocu¬ 
tion, and specimens illustrative of its principles, and of the powers 
of the voice, which it is believed, will be serviceable to all who 
wish to improve their elocution. 

The pieces for exercises in reading and declamation, are selec¬ 
ted indiscriminately, from ancient and modern authors ; and also 
from foreigners, and from Americans. The object has been to 
embody the best pieces in our language, for elocutionary purposes. 
If a piece be well written, it is not material whether its author is 
ail ancient or a modern, a foreigner or an American. Whether 
©ur bread be hard or soft, is of no consequence,—we want good 
bread. The notes with which almost every piece is accompanied, 
contain generally brief biographical sketches of their several au¬ 
thors, and of the circumstances under which they wrote. The 
notes, however, are intended chiefly to explain the manner in 
which the several pieces shou'd be read or recited. Before read¬ 
ing a piece, it may not be altogether unprofitable to look at the 
note which may accompany it. This work being designed as a 
reading book for schools, academies, theological seminaries, and 
colleges, th^ pieces are divided into verses. More pieces will be 
found in it, on elocution itself, than in any other book before the 
public. The dialogues are in a cluster. To avoid monotony, the 
prose and poetrv are intermixed. All the pieces, and the notes 
accompanying them, are calculated to inspire the reader with the 
love of freedom, of virtue, and of the Christian religion. For the 
benefit of seminaries of learning, a number of dialogues are in- 
1 * 


VI 


PREFACE. 


sertecL It has also been thought advisable to insert several amu¬ 
sing pieces for the accommodation of youth. 

It is gratifying to know, that elocution is beginning to secure a 
portion of attention, corresponding, in some degree, with its im¬ 
portance. But still it is too much neglected, not only by commu¬ 
nity generally, but even by public speakers and teachers of youth. 
There are, as yet, few or no distinct professorships of elocution in 
our literary institutions. The bishop of Cloyne says, “ that pro¬ 
bably half the learning of these kingdoms is lost, for want of hav¬ 
ing a proper delivery taught in the schools and colleges.” Is not 
half the learning of these United States, lost for want of having” 
elocution properly and thoroughly taught in our “ schools and 
colleges'!” Does not religion suffer in the hands of those who, 
owing to their ignorance of elocution, and their want of those 
feelings of love to God and love to man with which the gospel in¬ 
spires all who believe and practice its precepts, present that so¬ 
lemn and surpassingly important subject to the world, in a cold, 
lifeless, and bungling manner! It is, as Dr. Blair observes, “a 
poor compliment, that one is an accurate reasoner, if he be not a 
persuasive speaker.”' Why may not the people of the United 
States, become as much distinguished for their eloquence, as for 
their free and glorious institutions ! Is not eloquence as valuable 
now as it was in ancient times ? Is not freedoorn’s soil adapted 
to its growth! And would it not be “glorious to excel” other 
nations, as well as other individuals, “ in that article in which 
men excel the brute ?” 

The Supreme Being has kindly allotted to us our portion of 
human existence, in a country, the constitutions and laws of 
which, recognize in every citizen, the right to form, to cherish, 
and to express his opinions on all subjects interesting to our 
common welfare,—a country where the opinion of a majority pre¬ 
vails, and where eloquence creates public opinion. Here, as in 
the free States of antiquity, “ every man’s opinion should be writ¬ 
ten on his forehead.” Here, too, the noble science and art of elo¬ 
cution should receive, at least, attention enough to elevate the stan¬ 
dard of public speaking, particularly among our representatives and 
senators in congress. Then, when foreigners visit the city of 
Washington, as they often do, they would witness something 
more than “the flag of the Union floating over the capitol,”— 
they would hear within its walls, specimens of eloquence, the 
power and grandeur of which, they could not otherwise than ad¬ 
mire, They now animadvert very severely upon the manner in 
which our congressional orators are accustomed to sjpeak. After 
crossing the Atlantic, they visit the seat of governmffht, in the ex¬ 
pectation of hearing some of the most eloquent speakers in the 
United States. In that respect, they are'not disappointed. And 
not only so, but they hear in the Senate, if not in the House of Re¬ 
presentatives, orators, compared with whom, the best speakers in 
England or any other country, are not superior, if equal. The 
cavillers undervalue the merits of American speakers. In their 


PREFACE# 


Vil 


books, they criticise too severely those who have seats in congress, 
as well as other citizens of the United States. But if we would 
entirely escape censure, let us endeavor to avoid deserving any 
portion of it. Let American speakers unite elegance of language, 
with force of reasoning, so perfectly, that even the inhabitants of 
other countries, will be constrained to-say, with regard to them, 
as Milton did in another case: 

“That their words drew audience and attention, 

Still as night and summer noon tide air.” 

American young men are, then, called upon by considerations 
of national honor, to become good speakers. In order to accom¬ 
plish so desirable an object, that honorable enthusiasm for the art 
of eloquence, by which the great men of antiquity were character¬ 
ised, should pervade their minds. “ The torch of genius,” be it 
remembered, “is lighted at the altar of enthusiasm.” 

In view of the whole subject, it is proper to remark, in conclu¬ 
sion, that whatever may be the perfection in which an individual 
possesses the faculty of speech from nature, it is susceptible of ac¬ 
quiring much additional power, smoothness, and flexibility, by cul¬ 
tivation and practice. It is hoped ^hat this work will be condu¬ 
cive to the attainment of accuracy, force, and beauty of expression, 
in reading, conversation, and public speaking. If several years 
of experience as a teacher of elocution, afford the means of judg¬ 
ing, the matter which it contains, will be serviceable to all who 
are desirous of improving their mode of reading or of public 
speaking. Lord Bacon took “ all knowledge to be his province.” 
Mrs. Sigourney advises us to “ take all goodness for our province.” 
Let us take both. To be wise and good, is the highest object to 
which our hopes can aspire. Those in whom wisdom and good¬ 
ness are combined in the greatest degree, will participate the most 
largely in all the social pleasures of this life, and in the unspeaka- 
ble°joys of that which commences, never to end, beyond the dark¬ 
ness and silence of the tomb. It is the will of Him who built the 
heavens and the earth, that man should be the instructor of his fel¬ 
low man. We are commanded by Him who “spake as never 
man spake,” to do all that in our day and generation may be done, 
“ to teach all nations,” and thus to swell the triumphs of know¬ 
ledge. 

Under these impressions, this book has been prepared for the 
press. And it is offered to the people of my native country, with 
a confident hope, that it will be found useful in advancing the in¬ 
terests of that branch of education to which it is devoted, and 
which must be regarded, not merely as a fine art, but as an emi¬ 
nently valuable accomplishment. 


V 







CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION. Page. 

Observations on Elocution. 13 

The Elementary Sounds of the English Language . 17 

Specimens, accompanied by Observations, illustrative of 

good Reading.20 

On Quantity, or the Prolongation of the Tonic Elements 27 



On Emphasis .... 

• • • 

32 


Irony ..... 




Emphatic Pause 

. 

39 


Climax. 

. 

43 


Gesture or Rhetorical Action . 

. 

45 


SELECT PIECES FOR 

EXERCISES. 


1. 

Elocution .... 

Dr. Charming. 

49 

2. 

Elocution of Ladies 

. Mrs. Sigourney. 

50 

3. 

Elocution, its effects on Health 

Dr. Andrew Combe. 

51 

4. 

The Voice .... 

Journal of Health . 

53 

5. 

Demosthenes 

Rollin. 

55 

6. 

Cicero ..... 

N. A. Review. 

58 

7. 

Eloquence, its true Nature 

D. Webster. 

62 

8. 

Eloquence of the Pulpit 

Dr. Benjamin Rush. 

64 

9. 

Taste for Reading . 

Sir John Herschell. 

65 

10. 

A Rabbinical Tale . 

Dr. F'anklin. 

66 

11. 

Education .... 

Governor Seward. 

67 

12. 

Hamlet’s Instruction to the Players ... Slwkspeare. 

70 

13. 

Tell’s Address to the Mountains 

Knowles. 

71 

14. 

Ossian’s Address to the Sqn . 

.... 

72 

15. 

Rienzi’s Address to the Romans 

Miss Milford. 

73 

10. 

Byron’s Address to the Ocean 

• • • • 

75 

17. 

Speech of King Henry V. 

, . Shakspeare. 

77 

18. 

The Grave .... 

. Montgomery. 

78 

19. 

Extract from Dr. Caldwell’s Discourse . 

78 

£0. 

Satan’s supposed Speech 

. . Milton. 

81 

21 . 

Milton’s Apostrophe to Light 

. . . . 

81 

22 . 

Speech of Lord Chancellor Thurlow 

83 

23. 

St. Paul’s Defence before Agrippa 

8.4 








X 


CONTENTS. 


24. 

25. 

26. 
27. 
•28. 

29. 

30. 

31. 

32. 

33. 

34. 

35. 

36. 

37. 

38. 
39 

40. 

41. 

42. 

43. 

44. 

45. 

46. 

47. 

48. 

49. 

50. 
- 51. 

52. 

53. 

54. 

55. 

56. 

57. 

58. 

59. 

60. 
61 . 
62. 

63. 

64. 

65. 

66 . 

67. 

68 . 

69. 

70. 

71. 

72. 


Wirt. 


Shakspeare. 


Wolfe. 

. Moore 
Cincinnati Journal. 

Jefferson. 

Shakspeare. 


Supposed Speech of John Adams . . D. Webster. 

A Description of the Person of Jesus Christ . 

The Blind Preacher. 

David’s Lamentation over Saul and Jonathan 
Othello’s Apology for his Marriage . Shakspeare 
Cato’s Soliloquy ..... Addison. 
Imaginary Meeting of Satan, Sin, and Death Milton. 
Adam and Eve’s Morning Hymn. . 

Speech of Cassius 

Brutus’ Oration on the Death ofCsesar 
Antony’s Oration over Caesar’s body 
The Burial of Sir John Moore 
Last words of Robert Emmet - . 

Lines relating to Curran’s Daughter 
The Drunkard and his Bottle Cin 
Declaration of Independence . 

Speech of Patrick Henry 
Cardinal Wolsey’s Soliloquy . 

Cardinal Wolsey’s Farewell Address 
Judah’s Speech to Joseph ..... 
M’Duffie’s Announcement of the Death of a Colleague 

Death. H. Pickering. 

Ossian’s Address to the Moon .... 
On Education ..... Phillips. 
Conclusion of Daniel Webster’s Speech 
The Sacking of Prague . . • Campbell. 

Conclusion of Mr. Clay’s Speech, at Lexington 
The Petition of the Wife of Almas Ali Cawn 
Speech of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham 
^Night before the battle of Waterloo . Byron. 

Right of Free Discussion . . . D. Webster. 

Speech of Martin Van Buren .... 
Extract from Gen. Jackson’s Proclamation 
Extract from M’Duffie’s Speech .... 

The Union. D. Webster. 

Marco Bozzaris ..... Halleck. 
Speech of Mr. Burke ... ... 

Mr. Burke’s remarks to the Electors of Bristol 
Hamlet’s Soliloquy on Death . . Shakspeare. 

Speech of King Richard III. . . “ 

There’s nothing true but Heaven . . Moore. 


Page, 


Heaven 
Religion .... 
God’s Incomprehensibility 
Missionary Hymn 
I love to mark the Falling Leaf 
Lines for the Fourth of July . 
On the Death of Mrs. Wolfe 
How Scholars are Made 


. Anonymous. 
President Wood. 
. Chalmers. 
Bishop Heber. 
. Anonymous. 
. Anonymous. 

. Wolfe. 
. D. Webster . 


88 

90 

91 

93 

94 
96 
98 

101 

103 

105 

106 

109 

110 
112 
112 
114 
120 

123 

124 

125 

127 

128 
128 

129 

130 

131 

133 

134 

135 
137 

139 

140 
142 

144 

145 

146 

148 

149 
151 

153 

154 

155 
155 

157 

158 

159 

160 
161 
162 


CONTEXTS. 


XI 


73. 

74. 

75. 

76. 

77. 
73. 
79. 
30. 
81 . 

32. 

33. 

84. 

85. 

86 . 

37. 

38. 

89. 

90. 

91. 

92. 

93. 

94. 

95. 

96. 

97. 

98. 

99. 
100 . 
101 . 
102 ; 

103. 

104. 

105. 

106. 

107. 

108 . 

109. 

110 . 
111 . 
112 . 

113. 

114. 

115. 

116. 
117. 
113. 

119. 

120 . 
121 . 


Page. 

Books ...... Dr. Charming. 163 

On Knowledge . . . . De Wilt Clinton. 

Extract from an Oration on Lafayette J. Q. Adams. 

Part of a Speech of Elisha Williams 
Byron’s Farewell to his Wife .... 

Lady Randolph’s Soliloquy . . Rev. Mr. Home. 

Speech of Logan, a Mingo Chief .... 

Song of the German Soldiers after Victory Hemans , 

The Defence of Socrates before his Judges 

Part of the Burial Service. 

The Dream of Clarence . . . S/iakspeare. 

Scene between Virginius and Lucius . Knowles. 
Scene from Pizarro .... Kotzebue. 

A street Dialogue on Diet, between Cato and Cuffee 


Captain Bertram and Jack Bowlin . Dunlap. 
Alexander the Great and a Robber . Dr. Aikin. 
Prince Henry and Falstaff . . . Shakxpeare. 

A Scene from William Tell . . . Knoivles. 

Extract from Damon and Pythias . . . Shiel. 

Isabella pleading before Angelo . . Shakspeare. 

Upbraidings of Edward and Warwick Franklin. 

Hamlet and Horatio .... Shakspeare. 

Othello and Iago.“ 

Death of Alexander Hamilton . . Dr. Nolt. 

Extract from a Sermon of Bishop Latimer 

Man. Dr. George Combe. 

To Mary in Heaven . . . Robert Burns. 

The Christian’s Hope . . . . A. Sutton. 

Rules for the Structure of a Sentence . A. Walker. 
Heaven’s Attractions . . . N. Y. Observer. 

Eloquence of Sheridan ...... 

New Missionary Hymn. 

On the Immortality of the Soul . . Cicero. 

David’s Confidence in God’s Grace 
Of Elocution ..... Thelwal. 
ExtractTrom “ Wilson’s Arte of Rhetorique.” 

The Attainment of Eloquence Rev II. Ware,jun. 

The Sailor-Boy’b Dream . . W.W.Dimond. 

Eloquence of the Human Voice . Dr. J. R Black. 
Advantages of Knowledge. . 

Correct Reading . 

Oratory . 

Thanatopsis. 

The Effective Preacher 


Rev. R Hall. 
Western Observer. 

Knowles. 
. Bryant. 
Rev. George Shepard. 


Union of the Statesman and Man of Letters N Biddle. 
Elocution of Divinely Inspired Speakers Morn. Star. 
Patience under Provocations . . Dr. Blair. 

American Presidents ...... 

The Universal Prayer . . . Alexander Pope. 


164 

164 

166 

168 

170 

171 

172 

173 
175 
177 
179 
184 
139 
190 

194 

195 
199 
206 
210 
216 
220 
224 
226 
228 
231 

233 • 

234 

236 

237 
240 

243 

244 

246 

247 

248 

251 

252 
254 
257 
259 
261 
263 
266 

267 

268 
273 
275 
277 


CONTENTS. 


xii 


Page. 

122. Reflections at Sea. Malcom. 279 

123. Anecdote of Dr. Chauncey . . Tudor. 281 

124. Importance of Elocution to Lawyers Warren. 282 

125. Pitt’s Reply to Walpole.283 

126. Character of George Washington . . Jefferson. 285 

127. The Last Hours of Washington .... 287 

128. The Hermit. Beattie. 291 

129. Extract from President Jefferson’s Inaugural Address 293 

130. Extract from an Oration on the Crown Demosthenes. 295 

131. Extract from Cicero’s Speech for Cluentiue -. . 298 




r 











% 








OBSERVATIONS 

ON 

ELOCUTION. 


Elocution is the art of reading and speaking well. It 
demands of a reader that he institute an inquiry into the 
meaning of an author; and, having ascertained it, that he 
convey it, not only correctly, but with force, beauty, variety, 
and effect. And it requires a speaker to impress the exact 
lineaments of nature upon his sentiments. In order to 
read or speak well, the articulation must be correct and 
elegant, and the voice must be under the command of the 
will. A good articulation, it need not be said, is a primary 
beauty of elocution. It is to the ear what fine penmanship 
is to the eye. Without it, no individual can be a correct 
reader or speaker. It is the first step towards becoming an 
elocutionist. 

In Austin’s Chironomia, it is truly observed : “ That a 
public speaker, possessed of only a moderate voice, if he 
articulate correctly, will be better understood and heard 
with greater pleasure, than one who vociferates without 
judgment. The voice of the latter may indeed extend to a 
considerable distance, but the sound is dissipated in confu¬ 
sion ; of the former voice, not the smallest vibration is 
wasted, every stroke is perceived at the utmost distance to 
which it reaches ; and hence, it has often the appearance 
of penetrating even farther than one which is loud, but 
badly articulated. In just articulation, the words are not 
to be hurried over, nor precipitated syllable over syllable ; 

2 



ELOCUTION. 


xiv 

nor as it were melted together into a ma*s of confusion ; 
they should not be trail ‘d or drawled, nor permitted to slip 
out carelessly, so as to drop unfinished. They are to be 
delivered out from the lips, as beautiful coins newly issued 
from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, perfectly 
finished, neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, in due 
succession, and of due weight.” 

The question arises, how shall a correct and elegant ar¬ 
ticulation be acquired ? The answer is, by obtaining a 
knowledge of the elementary sounds of the English lan¬ 
guage. To be able to call letters by their names is insuffi* 
cient,—a knowledge of their sounds in u hich their power 
consists, is essential to good articulation. Those who do 
not understand the elements, cannot analyze words, nor can 
they tell when errors in articulation are made. Howeve 
multitudinous and gross may be their errors in that impor¬ 
tant branch of elocution, they are unconscious of them. 

Our language, it is admitted, is imperfect. If our alpha¬ 
bet were perfect, the names of the letters would correspond 
with their sounds. A large portion of the letters are at 
variance with their sounds. They have generally been di¬ 
vided into vowels and consonants. But the classification 
and division of Dr. James Rush, of Philadelphia, in his 
“ Philosophy of the Human Voice,” is altogether better. 
Without regard to the order in which the letters now 
stand, he arranges them according to their sounds, under 
three general heads,— Tonies , Subtonics , and Atonies , 

The voice, as well as the articulation, may be greatly im¬ 
proved by the practice of pronouncing these elements. 
The voice should be exercised on each element separately, 
and then, on their most difficult combinations. This ele¬ 
mentary exercise constitutes a kind of gymnastic training 
of the voice. The Greeks acquired great physical strength, 
by engaging in the Olympic games. The Roman soldiers 
qualified themselves to handle a sword skilfully in actual 
battle, by using in their preparatory exercises, heavy ar¬ 
mor. By giving the elements and reciting some of the 
best pieces of Shakspeare, Milton, Byron, and other distin¬ 
guished writers, with all possible percussive force of voice, 
an individual may acquire the ability to converse and read 
in the social circle, with perfect ease and gracefulness, and 
to address large audiences with great power and effect, and 
that, too, without any apparent, or much real effort of the 
organs of speech. 


fiLOCUTIOtf. 


XV 


The voice has been aptly and justly compared to an in¬ 
strument of music. Every person knows that if the strings 
of a musical instrument are imperfect, either in quality or 
number, or are not in harmony, the keys maybe struck in 
vain by the most skilful hand : no music can be produced 
upon them. So, if the voice be defective,—if it be harsh 
or creaking,—in a word, if it be in an uncultivated condi¬ 
tion, the speaker, although he may be master of his subject, 
will utterly fail of unfolding the beauties and displaying the 
striking expressions of that elocution, which, like poetry, 
has its dwelling place in nature. If, on the other hand, 
the strings of an instrument are perfect and in harmony, 
and its keys are properly struck, a tune will be produced. 
The voice, when highly cultivated, swells to chords of gran¬ 
deur or is softened to cadences, which would almost sus¬ 
pend 

“An angcl’a harmony to listen.” 

Let it not be said that our language is unadapted to the 
purposes of oratory. The English language, although im¬ 
perfect, surpasses all others in fulness, energy, and copious¬ 
ness. Many different fountains have contributed to en¬ 
large its stream. It flows from no particular spring. It 
is enriched with the spoils of several other languages. It 
is the most universal language on earth. It is in general 
use by the inhabitants on this continent, and by multitudes 
abroad. Leaving immeasurably and forever behind it, the 
languages of Greece and Rome ;—it rolls its swelling flood 
into the residences of uncounted millions. Its wealth is 
drawn from foreign mines ; but it is none the less valuable 
on that account. It is our own native language. We 
shall be likely to use it, at every period of our lives. We 
need not regret that the dead tongues of Greece and Rome 
are hopeless of a future resurrection, for ours is superior to 
either. Nor have we any occasion to regret that the 
tongue of Germany or France does not obtain among us, 
for ours is a more powerful instrument of communication, 
for highly cultivated minds, than any living language. It 
furnishes rich and abundant materials for expressing every 
conception of the mind and emotion of the heart. If, then, 
those who use it, do not attain renown, as orators,—if, in 
the words of Shakspeare, “ we are underlings ,” the Fault is 
not in our language , “ but in ourselves .” 


XVI 


ELOCUTION. 


“ To command the applause of listening senates,” re¬ 
quires, it must be acknowledged, a combination of natural 
and acquired abilities which very few possess. It is a mat¬ 
ter of rejoicing, that there are some such orators in the 
United States,—orators, who have the power of instructing 
and delighting their audiences, and to whom the poet’s 
lines apply in all their force and beauty : 

“Like fabled gods, their mighty war 
Shook realms and nations in its jar; 

Beneath each banner proud to stand, 

Looked up, the noblest of the land.” 

But the voices of our distinguished orators and statesmen 
will, ere long, cease to be heard in the councils of the na¬ 
tion. When their career is terminated, who shall succeed 
them ? The question is submitted to the decision of 
American young men. Shall we permit rail-road, bank, 
and land speculations, to occupy our whole time ? Is 
money the only thing worthy of the attention of mortal and 
immortal man ? Perish the thought ! Our cry is,— 
give us knowledge,—valuable knowledge. We want, too, 
that kind of knowledge, which, while it increases our own 
happiness, enables us to be useful to others. 

Elocution is a powerful engine of operation upon public 
opinion. It is the mirror of the mind of man. It is, more¬ 
over, an emendation of morals. A taste for it, prompts an 
individual to occupy his leisure moments in imparting 
sound and useful knowledge to the people; and in thal 
manner, does he aid in elevating the standard of morals. 

Elocution is also essential to the cause of liberty. When 
Cicero’s eloquence shook the forum, Rome was recognized 
as the “ mistress of the world.” In vain, then, did Cata- 
line lift up his traitorous arm against her. But when 
Cicero was murdered, “ the eternal city” jostled over the 
precipice of faction, and her sun went down in blood. 
The eloquence of Demosthenes animated the Greeks to 
stretch out the mighty arm of freedom against the usurpa¬ 
tions of Philip. When Demosthenes was put to death, the 
fetters of tyranny were fastened upon the citizens. If, 
then, we would perpetuate the existence of our country’s 
freedom, let us put forth our utmost energies, to restore 
“on to that elevated position in the United States, 
which it occupied in Greece and Rome, during the flour¬ 
ishing ages of those republics. 


ELOCUTION. 


XVII 


THE ELEMENTARY SOUNDS OF THE ENGLISH 
LANGUAGE. 

The tonics “ consist of different sorts of vocality,”—the 
subtonics “ possess variously among themselves, properties 
analagous to those of the tonics, but differing in degree,” 
—the atonies are mere aspirations. 

In schools, or where classes in elocution are organized, 
the elements may be given in concert. To teach the ele¬ 
ments, it is convenient, although not necessary, to have a 
table of them on a large scale, like a map. It appears 
from Professor C. E. Stowe’s report on elementary public 
instruction in Europe, made to the thirty-sixth general 
assembly of the state of Ohio, that in the principal schools 
in Europe, for teaching the elements of good reading and 
speaking, “ the letters are printed in large form on square 
cards, the class stands up before a sort of rack, the teacher 
holds the cards in his hand, places one upon the rack, and 
a conversation of this kind passes between him and his 
pupils : What letter is that ? H. He places another on 
the rack: What letter is that? A. I now put these 
two letters together, thus, (moving the cards close togeth¬ 
er,) HA. What sound do these two letters signify ? Ha. 
There is another letter : What letter is that ? (putting it 
on the rack.) R. I now put this third letter to the other 
tw r o, thus, HAR. What sound do the three letters make ? 
Har . There is another letter : What is it ? D. I join 
this letter to the other three, thus, HARD. What do 
they make ? Hard. Then he proceeds in the same way 
with these letters, F-I-S-T ; joins these four letters to the 
preceding four, HARD-FIST, and the pupils pronounce 
Hard Fist. Then, with the letters E and D, and joins 
these two letters to the preceding eight, and the pupils 
pronounce, Hard-jisted. In this way, they are taught to 
read words of any length, (for you may easily add to the 
above, ness, and make hard-fistedness,) the longest as easily 
as the shortest, and in fact they learn their letters, they 
learn to read words of one syllable and of several syllables, 
and to read in plain reading by the same process, at the 
same moment. Thus they learn that the name of a letter 
and the power of a letter are two very different things.” 

2 * 


XV111 


ELOCUTION. 


Mr. Wyse, of the British Parliament, in his work on 
popular education, insists upon the importance of obtaining 
a knowledge of the elements. He justly observes, that 
U it is preposterous to use signs for sounds before we first 
possess the sounds for which the signs are to be used.” He 
also says, that “ Alphabetic teaching, as it is generally 
practised, is a complication of useless and difficult absurdi¬ 
ties.” My opinion is, that the names and sounds of the 
letters should be taught simultaneously. In common 
schools, the elements are not taught at all; and, conse¬ 
quently, a large majority of mankind pass through life 
without learning them. 

It should be borne in mind, that the elementary exercise 
fortifies the pulmonary organs against the invasion of 
disease. 

The number of elements in our language is thirty-eight. 
There are fifteen tonics , fourteen subtonics , and nine atonies* 


TABLE OF THE ELEMENTS. 


TONICS. 


A as heard in ale, day, fate. 


. A 
A 
A 
E 
E 
I 
I 
O 
O 

o 

u 

u 

u 

ou 


in, England, been, 
old, no, oats, 
ooze, lose, too, to. 
on, lock, not. 
tube, few, pnpil, 
np, her, hwrt. 
fall, pull, wolf. 
our, flowr, florae r. 


arm, farm, harm* 
all, orb, Lord, 
an, idea, man. 
eel, imitate, see. 
end, met, let. 


isle, fly , pine. 


SUBTONICS. 


B as heard in 


Joat, Jarb. 

rt.nv rt i/2 /7avo 


D 

G 

L 

M 

N 



fight, fiberty. 
mate, maim, storm, 
no, nine, on. 


ELOCUTION. 


XIX 


NG as heard in song, finger. 


TH 

V 
W 

Y 
Z 

ZH 


roe, rare, orb. 
then, with, benea th. 


, . Zenophon. 

azure, enclosure. 



ATONICS. 


F as heard in 


/ame, dri/t, if. 
he, hence. 

&ite, wreck . 
pit, up, a pi. 
fake, if. 

shine, shrink, push. 
sin, cell, crisp. 
thin, months, 
when, whaX , tc?iich. 


H 

K 

P 

T 

SH 

S 

TH 


WH 


If the voice be cultivated by exercise upon the elements 
and in recitation, it will, as is believed, take such inflec¬ 
tions and intonations as sentiment requires, naturally and 
spontaneously. It is true, as Lord Kaimes says, that 
“ certain sounds are by nature allotted to each passion for 
expressing it externally,” 

A reader or speaker ought to be so familiar with elocu¬ 
tion, as to display its graces without any effort. So surely 
as an individual thinks of his elocution, at the time he is 
speaking, just so surely will he fail of producing any other 
effect upon his hearers, than to convince them that he 
takes no interest in his subject. As a bird, when taken- 
from the illimitable fields of nature and deprived of the air 
and foliage of the forest, loses the brilliancy of its plumage; 
so, the slightest appearance of being governed by rules, is 
fatal to eloquence. No professor of elocution can describe in 
so many words, what is the mysterious power in which true 
and genuine eloquence consists. He can only say, that, 
to be truly eloquent, a man must well understand the subject 
upon which he speaks ; he must have complete control 
over the modulations of his voice ; his gestures must be 
natural and graceful; and he must speak under the influ¬ 
ence of deep feeling, emanating from its appropriate foun¬ 
tain, the heart. His articulation, too, must be correct and 
elegant. 


XX 


ELOCUTION, 


As a correct articulation consists in the distinct utter¬ 
ance of the elements, it may be advantageous to exhibit a 
table of the analysis of words, in w hich there are easy and 
difficult combinations of elements. The first column con¬ 
tains words as they are usually spelled ; the second, their 
elements. To know how our language is composed, it is 
necessary to decompose it. According to the system of 
teaching spelling which obtains in our schools, the pupil is 
obliged to mention the names of the letters w r hich compose 
w r ords. It would be much more philosophical to require 
him to spell words by uttering, separately, each element. 

TABLE OF THE ANALYSIS OF WORDS. 


WORDS. 

ELEMENTS. 

ale 

a-1 

day 

d-a 

flew 

f-l-u 

crew 

k-r-u 

God 

G-o-d 

Lord 

L-a-r-d 

lamb 

1-a-m 

sky 

s-k-i 

oak 

o-k 

once 

w-u-n-s 

clear 

k-l-e-r 

wool 

w-u-l 

spoil 

s-p-a-i-1 

dare 

d-a-r 

thought 

th-a-t 

shrine 

sh-r-i-n 

shrink 

sh-r-i-n-k 

pause 

p-a-z 

nature 

n-a-t-sh-y-u-r 

whelmed 

wh-e-l-m-d 

stretch 

s-t-r-e-t-sh 

whisps 

wh-i-s-p-s 

rhythm 

r-i-th-m 

pray 

p-r-a 

breadths 

b-r-e-d-th-s 

months 

m-u-n-th-s 

twists 

t-w-i-s-t-s 


WORDS. 

ELEMENTS. 

fame 

f-a-m 

cart 

k-a-r-t 

orbs 

a-r-b-z 

awful 

a-f-u-1 

nostril 

n-o-s-t-r-i-1 

awe 

a 

tasks 

t-a-s-k-s 

mulcts 

m-u-l-k-t-s 

bursts 

b-u-r-s-t-s 

dredged 

d-r-e-d-zh-d 

acts 

a-k-t-s 

church 

t-sh-u-r-t-sh 

John 

d-zh-a-n 

George 

d-zh-a-r-d-zh 

mix 

m-i-k-s 

strange 

s-t-r-a-n-d-zh 

phthisic 

t-i-z-z-i-k 

example 

e-g-z-a-m-p-1 

law 

1-a 

exchequer 

e-k-s-t-sh-eker 

objects 

o-b-d-zh-e-k-t-s 

mouths 

m-ou-th-z 

suspects 

s-u-s-p-e-k-t-8 

friendship 

f-r-e-n-d-sh-i-p 

thirteenths 

th-u-r-t-e-n-th-s 

wives 

w-i-v-z 



ELOCUTION. 


XXI 


SPECIMENS, ACCOMPANIED BY OBSERVATIONS, 
ILLUSTRATIVE OF GOOD READING. 

In order to read well, the meaning of an author must be 
perfectly understood. If it be not, an individual will ne¬ 
cessarily read at random. The reason there is so much 
formality and affectation in the declamations of school-boys, 
is owing to their ignorance of the meaning of the writers 
whose pieces they attempt to recite. Can a school-boy 
analyze the works of the great and unrivalled delineator of 
human character ? Can he read well the writings of him 
whose “ thoughts, that voluntarily move harmonious num¬ 
bers,” elevate the mind to the “ blue serene” ? Has his 
voice fulness, power, and stately elegance enough to exem¬ 
plify the majesty of Shakspeare and Milton ? In vain, may 
he undertake to read or recite Hamlet’s soliloquy on death, 
Antony’s oration over Caesar’s body, or the meeting of 
Satan, sin, and death. Unless his instructor teaches him 
the meaning of such pieces, and of all pieces which he does 
not understand, his attempts at declamation will be unsuc¬ 
cessful and unattended with beneficial results. It avails 
nothing for a teacher to say to his scholars: You read 
too fast; you don’t mind your stops ; 

“ Loam to speak slow—all other graces 
Will follow in their proper places.” 

This is mere poetry, in which there is little or no truth. 
There are many bad readers whose faults do not consist in 
quick time. 

Equally unavailing is it, for a teacher to tell his pupils to 
be natural. The teacher himself must be a good reader, 
else his scholar cannot become one. If the copy he sets 
be in bad taste, let him not blame his imitators. To read 
the narrative of the blind man, and St. Paul’s description 
of the resurrection,—to speak of the turning of a top, and 
of the bright orbs which circle their way in the heavens,— 
to tell a story and attempt to pour forth 

-“ the resistless eloquence of wo,” 

in the same intonations, key, and quantity of voice, is as 
absurd as it would be to sing, were it practicable, all senti¬ 
ments in Mear or Old Hundred. Such a mockery of na- 


XXI1 


ELOCUTION. 


ture and gross departure from the principles of elocution* 
would offend even David Crockett “ to the very soul,” 
were he living (notwithstanding he thought “ laming ” to 
to be “ pretty much a thing of nothing, after all the fuss 
that’s made about it”). 

They know little of human nature, who do not know that 
no faculty in a child is stronger or earlier developed than 
imitation. We are no less creatures of imitation than of 
habit. Let the teacher of reading, then, be his lesson. 
Let him in his own person, illustrate and justify the poet’s 
representation : 

11 A proper judge will read each work of wit, 

With the same spirit that its author writ.” 

If teachers of youth would always take pains to understand 
the meaning of an author, and would read to their pupils 
under the influence of the same feelings which animated 
their author at the time he wrote, good readers would 
be as common as they are now rare, among us. Educa¬ 
tors must be educated,—teachers themselves must be 
taught elocution before they are competent to teach the 
sublime art to others. No man should assume a station 
until he is in some measure qualified to perform the duties 
which it devolves upon him. It is not enough that a min¬ 
ister, lawyer, physician, or teacher, does the best he can. 
He must know what are the duties of his profession; and, 
knowing, perform them, and perform them well. 

A distinguished writer observes, that “ not to teach, is 
only the absence of good ; to misteach, is positive evil.” 
It is even so. Pupils unavoidably, and almost necessarily, 
imbibe the errors their teachers make. As the pupil ad¬ 
vances in years, these errors increase in number and force, 
until it is almost impossible for him to unlearn and abandon 
them. The earlier, therefore, elocution is taught, the 
better. 

Without farther precursory remarks on reading, attention 
is invited to a few specimens, designed to show the indis¬ 
pensable necessity of perfectly understanding an author, in 
order to do him justice. The Scriptures are not always 
read with nice discrimination ; in other words, the sense 
or sentiment is sometimes improperly or imperfectly con- 
veyed. Philip inquired of the nobleman of Ethiopia, 
** Understandest thou what thou readest ?” May we not 
ask some readers of the Bible, in modem times, the same 


ELOCUTION 1 . 


xxiii 


question? And, moreover, if individuals do understand 
what they read, is it not often the case, that their intona¬ 
tions of voice are unadapted to the subject ? The power 
of expressing the emotions of the heart, as well as the 
operations of the mind, is recognized in the Scriptures. 
King David speaks of “ the voice of joy,” and “ the voice 
of supplication by which, he doubtless means, that the 
elocution of joy is very different from that of prayer. 

A striking instance of the importance of inquiring into 
the meaning of an author, and of adapting the voice to it, 
is to be found in the latter part of St. John, xix. 6. Pilate 
is there represented to have said to the chief priests and 
officers who were determined to imbrue their hands and 
hearts in the blood of Jesus Christ : “ Take ye him, and 
crucify him ; for I find no fault in him.” All who are fa¬ 
miliar with that portion of the Scriptures which relates to 
the crucifixion, know, that Pilate thus spake, after he had 
taken Jesus into the judgment hall by himself, and examined 
him, and had been so well satisfied of his innocence, that he 
believed him to be, as he says in Matthew, xxvii. 24, “ a 
just person.” It is written in St. Mark, xv. 14, that 
Pilate inquired of the chief priests who called upon him feo 
deliver Christ into their hands : “ Why, what evil hath he 
done?” In St. Luke, xxiii. 4, Pilate said, “ I find no fault 
in this man.” It is certain that Pilate saw no evidence 
that Christ was guilty of the crimes with which he was 
charged. It is equally certain that he intended “ to have 
no hand in his death.” It is, therefore, easy to perceive 
that if the passage in St. John : “ Take ye him and crucify 
him, for I find no fault in him,” be read at random, as ab¬ 
surd an idea may be conveyed, as if a court of Oyer and 
Terminer should say to the sheriff of a county, in reference 
to a man charged with the perpetration of crime, but 
against whom, no evidence had been adduced to implicate 
him in its guilt: Take this man and execute him , for he is 
innocent! I3y giving percussive force of voice enough to 
make the word “ye,” prominent, and the letter “I,” still 
more so, the true meaning will be conveyed. Thus: “Take 
ye him and crucify him, for I find no fault in him ;” and, 
inasmuch as I do not, Pilate might have added, I will have 
nothing to do with his crucifixion. It was foolish as well 
as w icked in Pilate, to release a personage into the cruel 
hands of persecutors and murderers w hom he believed to be 



XXIV 


ELOCUTION. 


so innocent, that, as he says in St. John, xviii. 38, he 
could “ find in him no fault at all,” 

My principal object, however, in directing the reader’s 
attention to this subject, is, to illustrate a highly essential 
principle in elocution,—the importance of correct reading. 

An example from Macbeth, in Shakspeare, may serve 
to illustrate still farther, the necessity of ascertaining the 
exact meaning of every sentence we read. Duncan, king 
of Scotland, consented to become the guest of his kinsman, 
Macbeth. An opportunity for murdering the king, offers 
itself. Macbeth’s ambitious wife conjures him not to let 
it slip. Macbeth had met three of Shakspeare’s imaginary 
beings, called witches, two of whom, hailed him with titles 
of nobility; the third, with that of future king. This 
circumstance, combined with the importunity of Lady 
Macbeth and his own towering ambition, led him to 
assassinate the king and seize upon the crown. When the 
dagger hovered before Macbeth’s eyes, at the feast, his 
mind was “ ill at ease.” He was fearful that justice would 
cry out “ trumpet-tongued against the deep damnation” of 
the sanguinary deed. While revolving over in his mind 
the consequences which would accrue to him and others, 
from the commission of the atrocious crime, he said : 

“ If it were done , when ’tis done, then ’twere well 
It were done quickly ; if the assasination 
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch 
With his surcease, success; that but this blow 
Might be the be-all and the end-all here— 

But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, 

We’d jump the life to come!” 

By saying “ if it were done, when ’tis done, then ’twere 
well it were done quickly,” Macbeth means : if, when the 
crime is committed, no evil consequence will result from it, 
the sooner it is perpetrated, the better. It is, therefore, 
necessary to elevate the voice on the word done , as it first 
occurs. Any other mode of reading it, conveys either no 
idea, or a very absurd one. Repentance immediately 
follows ; nay, if it be proper thus to speak, it even precedes 
the deed. But the crown glittered before his eyes ; and, 
supposing that he could escape detection and punishment, 
he stretched out the murderous arm and spilt the life-blood 
of his kinsman whom he had entertained, and charged the 


ELOCUTION. 


XXV 


flagrant crime upon his guards. The compunctious stings 
of conscience left him no rest either night or day. True 
to the life has the great poet of nature painted the picture. 
Macbeth exclaims : 

“ Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood 
Clean from my hand ? No ; this my hand will rather 
The multitudinous seas incarnardine, 

Making the green—one red.” 

“ Better be with the dead, 
Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, 

Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
In restless ecstacy [agony]—” 

Macbeth means that his hands are so deeply stained with 
blood, that should he wash them in the vast ocean, it would 
change its aspect from green to that of red throughout . 
If it be read as it is punctuated in some, if not all the edi¬ 
tions of Shakspeare, thus : “ making the green one red,” 
the absurd idea conveyed, is, that there was only blood 
enough upon his hand to make a green sea red, in contra¬ 
distinction to one of some other color. The word “ green” 
implies “ the multitudinous seas,”—“ all great Neptune’s 
ocean ;” it should, therefore, be punctuated and read thus : 
“making the green—one red.” The word “green” 
should be read exactly as if it were sea or ocean. 

The above extracts from Shakspeare are in the last scene 
of the first act, and the second scene of the second act of 
Macbeth. 

It may not be unimportant or unprofitable to the reader, 
to give an example from Coriolanus. In the fifth act and 
third scene of Coriolanus, in answer to the question of his 
mother, Volumnia : “ Do you know this lady ?” he says : 

“The noble sister of Publicola— 

The moon of Rome—chaste as the icicle, 

That’s curded by the frost from purest snow, 

And hangs on Dian’s temple—Dear Valeria !” 

How are we to understand Coriolanus? Does he mean 
that a lady is actually “ the moon of Rome ?” What! had 
Rome a moon of its own, and was that moon the wife of 
Coriolanus ? And was she chaste, too, “ as the icicle ?” 
We have yet to learn that icicles are either chaste or un- 
3 


XXVI 


ELOCUTION. 


chaste. According to the mythology of the Romans, Diana 
was the goddess of chastity. The word “ moon” implies 
the goddess Diana, upon whose temple the icicle is repre¬ 
sented to have hung. The sentiment intended to be con¬ 
veyed by the “ swan of Avon,” is, that the matron, 
Valeria, was chaste as the goddess Diana. This specimen 
does not require a very rhetorical reading; it is given to 
show the importance of what is called intellectual elocution. 

It is a fault of many readers and speakers to close their 
sentences or speeches as though their voices died away, and 
they with them. Others make small and comparatively 
unimportant words too prominent; thus : “ This is a ques¬ 
tion of fac tfor the jury, and not of law for the court, and 
if the court assume the responsibility of deciding this 
question which belongs to the jury and not to the court, 
then I shall say, in the language of the immortal bard : 

4 Farewell, liberty? and farewell, freedom.’ ” 

It need not be said that elocution requires the words in 
italic in the above and the following specimens, to be pro¬ 
nounced with less, instead of more emphasis than the more 
important words- “ If the gentleman could see a man in 
the presidential chair, of a lofty stature, manly eloquence, 
easy manners, and a defender of a high tariff, he would he, 
doubtless, contented.” 

There are, however, some instances in which the mean¬ 
ing of a sentence depends upon the emphatic manner in 
which small words are pronounced. In the “ Merchant of 
Venice,” Bassanio thus apologises to his wife for having 
given a ring which he received from her, to a friend : 

“ If you did know to whom I gave the ring, 

If you did know for whom I gave the ring, 

And would conceive for what I gave the ring, 

And how unwillingly I left the ring, 

When nought would be accepted hut the ring, 

You would abate the strength of your displeasure.” 

An emphatic stress upon the small words in italic, in this 
example, makes it intelligible and interesting. 

The art ofreading in a graceful and impressive manner, 
is of great value to ladies as well as gentlemen. The sub¬ 
ject is presented in its true and interesting light, in the 
following extract from the North American Review : “ It 


ELOCUTION. 


XXV11 


might to be a leading object in our schools to teach the art 
of reading. It ought to occupy three-fold more time than 
it does. The teachers of these schools should labor to 
improve themselves , They should feel that, to them, for a 
time, are committed the future orators of the land. We 
had rather have a child, even of the o A her sex, return to 
us from school, a first rate reader, than a first rate perfor¬ 
mer on the piano, We should feel that we had a far better 
pledge for the intelligence and talent of our child. The 
accomplishment, in its perfection, would give more pleas¬ 
ure. The voice of song is not sweeter than the voice of 
eloquence. And there may be eloquent readers as well as 
eloquent speakers. We speak of perfection in this art, 
and it is something, we must say in defence of our prefer¬ 
ence, which we have never yet seen. Let the same pains 
be devoted to reading as are required to form an accom¬ 
plished performer on an instrument; let us have our formers 
of the voice, the music masters of the reading voice, as 
the ancients had ; let us see years devoted to this accom- 
plishment, and then we shall be prepared to stand the com¬ 
parison. It is, indeed, a most intellectual accomplishment. 
So is music, too, in its perfection. But one recommenda¬ 
tion of the art of reading is, that it requires a constant 
exercise of mind. It demands continual and close reflec¬ 
tion and thought, and the finest discrimination of thought. 
It involves, in its perfection, the whole art of criticism on 
language.” 


ON QUANTITY, OR THE PROLONGATION OF 
THE TONIC ELEMENTS. 

All well informed individuals know the meaning of quan¬ 
tity in vocal music. In elocution, it seems not to be 
equally as well understood. In speech, as well as song, it 
consists in prolonging the tonic elements which are usually 
called the vowel sounds, without elevating the voice upon 
them. It is decidedly the most important element of 
expression. It is emphasis by time. It should not be given, 
except upon words or sentences of unusual importance. 
Solemn subjects, prayers, every thing of deep pathos,—all 
pieces, whether in prose or poetry, relating to the great 
and imperishable interests of man, as a being who has 
entered upon an interminable state of duration,—sueh as 



ELOCUTION. 


xxviii 

St. Paul’s description of the resurrection, Montgomery 7 a 
Grave, Thanatopsis, Adam and Eve’s Morning Hymn, and 
our Lord’s Prayer, should be read or recited with quantity. 

In giving quantity, song and drawl must be avoided. 
There should be no admixture of either. Pure speech 
should be preserved. Shakspeare warns us against 
“mouthing our words,” by which, he doubtless means, 
drawl. Half a century since, public speakers and readers 
were more in the habit of degenerating into song or drawl, 
or both, than now. But whoever will be at the trouble to 
become theoretically and practically acquainted with elo¬ 
cution, will see that our cotemporaries are not entirely 
free from such faults. Those who read and partly sing 
at the same time, do neither well. It is related of Caesar, 
that a person read with such a degree of song before him, 
that he inquired : “ Do you read or sing ?” 

The sound of an agreeable voice, is made by inhaling the 
air into the recesses of the lungs, and throwing it skilfully 
through the lips and nostrils. 

In pronouncing an element, acertain amount of time is 
unavoidably consumed. It is easy to perceive that in the 
word name, we necessarily give the letter a, a longer sound 
than in min . In mane, the e is silent. It has, therefore, 
three sounds. The word man, too, has three sounds. The 
only difference is: in the word mane, the a has a long 
sound ; in man, short. In pronouncing either of the words, 
the organs of speech assume three distinctive positions. 
Nearly all words are susceptible of quantity, to some extent. 
It can, however, much more easily be given upon words, 
the vowel sounds of which are long, as in ale, all, eve, isle, 
old , ooze. It is peculiarly improper to attempt to give 
quantity to syllables, the time of which cannot be extended, 
without changing their elementary and natural sounds. 
Act, pit, end, art, flood, memory, are of this description. 

The syllables and words marked in italic, in the following 
examples, require quantity: 

“ Oh ! happiness! our being’s end and aim.” 

“ Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean.” 

“ Roll on, thou dark and deep blue ocean, roll ” 


“ Hail, 7to-ly light.” “ We praise thee, 0 Lord” 


ELOCUTION. 


XXIX 


M Oj thou that roZZ-est above.” “ The curfew tolls ” 

“ Sorrow breaks seasons and re-po-sing hours. 

Makes the night morn- ing, and the noon- tide night.” 

“ And every turf beneath their feet, 

Shall be a soZ-dier’s sepulchre.” 

“ When I am forgotten, as I shall be, 

And sleep in dull, cold marble.” 

“ We carved not a line, we raised not a stone ; 

But left him alone, with his glory.” 

“ On the cold cheek of death, smiles and roses are blend¬ 
ing* 

And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.” 

“ Yet a few days, and the ali-be-fo>7<Z-ing 
Sun shall see no more, in all his course.” 

“ Oh! flowers, that never will in other climate grow.” 

“ High on a throne of royal state.” 

“ Join voices, all ye living souls.” 

“ Hail, universal Lord.” 

O, my mother Earth, take home thy child.” 

t: Come to the bridal cham- ber, Death.” 

“ So let it be with Caesar.” 

“ Here comes his body, mourn-ed by Mark Antony.” 

“ The roll-ing surf, as it breaks over the reef, will 
resound to him a deep and soZ-emn re-quiem.” 

“ Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast ?” 

“ Fare-well awhile ; I will not leave you long,” 

3* 


XXX 


ELOCUTION. 


“ Could we but climb where Moses stood, 

And view the landscape o’er,— 

Not Jord- an’s stream, nor death's cold flood , 

Should fright us from the shore." 

“I heard many angels round about the throne, saying 
with a loud voice, wor-thy is the Lamb that was slain." 

“B o-hold! I show you a mystery: We shall not all 
sleep , but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the 
twinkling of an eye , at the last trump ; for the trumpet 
shall sound , and the dead shall be raised ^-corruptible, and 
we shall be changed." 

“ And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God ; 
and the books were opened, and an-oth-er book was opened, 
which is the book of life; and the dead were judged out 
of those things which were written in the books, according 
to their works." 

“ And then shall appear the sign of the Son of man in 
heaven, and then shall all the tribes of the earth mourn, 
and they shall see the Son of man, coming in the clouds of 
heaven, with power and great glory." 

“ Our Father , who art in heaven , hallowed be thy name. 
Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth , as it is in 
heaven. Give us, this day, our daily bread ; and forgive 
us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass 
again# us. And lead us not into temptation ; but deliver 
us from c-vih For thine is the kingdom, and the power , and 
the glory , forever and ever. Amen." 

“ Scaling yonder peak, 

I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow ; 

O-’er the abyss, his broad , ex-pan-ded wings 
Lay calm and mo-tionless upon the air, 

As if he floated there with-ow« their aid, 

By the sole act of his unlorded will, 

That buoy'd him proudly up. Instinctively 
I bent my bow, yet kept he rounding still 
His airy circle, as in the de-light 
Of measuring the ample range beneath, 

And round about; ab-sor6-’d, he heeded not 


ELOCUTION. 


XXXI 


The death that threatened him. I could not shoot. 

*Twas lib erty. I turned my bow aside, 

And let him soar away.” 

Some of the subtonic elements, in certain combinations, 
admit of quantity ; the atonies , seldom. Quantity upon 
the consonant elements, is inadmissible at the beginning of 
syllables. In reading or reciting sublime pieces, or solemn 
passages of Scripture, care must be taken not to give 
quantity to every syllable, nor the same long quantity to 
every word. Words require a greater or less degree, ac¬ 
cording to their real or comparative importance. To 
avoid monotony, and that disagreeable tone which consists 
in a recurrent melody, the voice must not be permitted to 
rest, for many moments, on the same pitch. It must be 
constantly undergoing such changes as sentiment demands, 
in the rising, falling, and circumflex inflections. 

Quantity cannot be given, without considerable compass 
of voice. The term, in its most extended sense, implies 
volume or fulness of sound. In elocution, as in music, a 
sound may be either loud or soft, on the same note. Speakers 
and readers who wish to excite the admiration of their 
hearers, would do well to increase their compass of voice, 
instead of raising their key. Quantity, in its perfection, 

-“ Comes o’er the ear, like the sweet south 

Which breathes upon a bank of violets, 

. Stealing and giving odor.” 

The other elements of expression, are pitch, force, and 
quality, or hind of voice ; each of which is of consequence, 
because every syllable must be sounded, either on a higher or 
lower key; it must have more or less force, and have some one 
quality of voice, as well as consume more or less time in its 
utterance. It is, however, deemed unnecessary to bestow 
special attention upon any of the elements of expression, 
in this work, except quantity. 

It is believed that teachers who introduce this work into 
their schools, academies, or colleges, and gentlemen w 7 ho 
may peruse it, will exercise good taste enough to pitch the 
voice, and give it that quality and degree of force which 
circumstances, sentiments, or pieces may require. 

The different combinations of the four elements which 
are here mentioned, and the most important of which, it 
need not be repeated, is quantity , produce all the varieties 
of expression, of which the writer has any knowledge. 


XXX11 


ELOCUTION. 


Emphasis, the laws of which should not be, by any meaiis, 
disregarded, results from force and pitch combined. It 
consists in elevating the voice and giving it a forcible stress 
upon words or syllables. To prevent emphasis from being 
confounded with quantity, as well as with a view to eluci¬ 
date its meaning, it will be treated of in the next article. 


ON EMPHASIS. 

By emphasis, is meant a particular and forcible utterance 
of significant words, so as to convey their tneaning in the 
most lively and striking manner. It consists chiefly in the 
loudness of the note in which they are uttered. It imparts 
brilliancy to composition. It requires that words which 
are the most important in sensei be made the most manifest 
to the ear of the hearer. 

No precise rules can properly be laid down to regulate 
the application of emphasis. In order that it may be cor¬ 
rectly used, the exact import of what is read, must be un¬ 
derstood. To avoid that jerking emphasis which is some¬ 
times witnessed on the part of readers and speakers, let 
them employ a portion of quantity. Emphasis and quan¬ 
tity, judiciously combined, constitute the very soul ot de¬ 
livery. A caution, however, must be given against uniting 
them too frequently. Emphasis itself, is inseparably asso¬ 
ciated with sentiment and emotion. Thoughts, to which 
it is given, should beam from the eye and play upon the 
countenance, before they are uttered. A speaker or reader 
should be enamored with his subject. It should fill his 
heart. Then will emphatic stress be spontaneous, natural, 
and deeply impressive. 

Cicero says, that “ every motion of the mind has natur¬ 
ally its peculiar countenance, voice, and gesture, which, 
like the strings of a musical instrument, act agreeably to 
the impressions they receive from the mind.” The place 
and amount of emphasis, must be determined by the sense 
of the passage, and by the exercise of good taste and en¬ 
lightened reason. An emphatic word is generally, but not 
always, used antithetically , with some other word or 
phrase. 

To assist the student in reading and oratory, a few ex¬ 
amples will now be given, in which the emphatic words are 
distinguished. Let it not be supposed that the same quantity 



ELOCUTION. xxxiii 

of emphasis is due to each word thus marked. It will be 
perceived from the following specimens, that emphatic 
stress is sometimes absolute, 

ABSOLUTE EMPHASIS. 

“ I warn you, do not dare to lay your hand on the con- 
stitution.” 

“ Why will ye die ?” 

“ Has the gentleman done, has he completely done ?” 

“ Shall we try argument ? Sir, we have been trying 
that , for the last ten years.” 

“ We must fight.” 

“ Conquest awaits you.” 

“ To arms! to arms !” 

" Who dares to tremble, by this weapon, dies.” 

“ Up ! comrades, up !” 

“ Haste ! pass the seas. Fly hence ! Begone !” 

“ Soldiers ! stand firm.” 

“On! on! ye brave. Rise! fellow-men!” 

u Bach, to the infernal pit, I drag thee chained. Whence 
and what art thou, execrable shape ?” 

M Angels and ministers of grace, defend us.” 

emphatic stress by contrast, or antithetic emphasis. 

“ Virtue, not rolling suns , the mind matures.” 

“ The man of wisdom, is the man of years.” 

“ But own man born to live, as well as die,” 


XXXIV 


ELOCUTION. 


44 Virtue alone outbuilds the pyramids ; 

Her monuments shall last, when Egypt's fall.” 

44 High worth is elevated place.” 

44 Short pleasures for long woes are to succeed.” 

44 Kind souls, what! weep you, when you but behold 

Our Caesar’s vesture wounded ? Look you here ! 

Here is himself.” 

44 And wisdom at one entrance, quite shut out.” 

44 At thirty, man suspects himself a fool.” 

44 Thou sun ! of this great world both eye and soul. 

Acknowledge Him thy greater.” 

44 A day, an hour , of virtuous liberty, is worth a w hole 
eternity of bondage.” 

“ Oh ! sw'ear not by the moon , the inconstant moon .” 

44 O, Death, the good man’s dearest friend .” 

44 The rich man had exceeding many flocks and herds.” 

44 And Nathan said to David, thou art the man.” 

“Then said the chief priests of the Jews, to Pilate: 
Write not, the king of the Jew's; but that he said , I am 
king of the Jew's.” 

44 Henceforth, there is laid up for me a crown of right¬ 
eousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me 
at that day ; and not to me only, but unto all them also 
that love his appearing .” 

“ And Paul said : I would to God, that not only thou , 
but also all that hear me this day, were both almost and 
altogether such as I am, except these bonds.” 

44 And it was the sabbath day w hen Jesus made the clay 
and opened his eyes.” 


ELOCUTION. 


XXXV 


“ Bat the Jews did not believe concerning him, that he 
had been blind and received his sight, until they called the 
parents of him that had received his sight.” 

“ Dost thou believe on the Son of God ? He answered 
and said, Who is he, Lord, that I might believe on him ?” 

“ I came not to baptize, but to preach the gospel.” 

“ The queen of the south came from the uttermost parts 
if the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon ; and, behold ! 

, greater than Solomon is here” 

“ It is sown a natural body ; it is raised a spiritual body.” 

“ If you seek to make one rich , study not to increase 
is stores , but to diminish his desires .” 

Alexander .—“ I could honor thy courage , but I detest and 
uust punish thy crimes .” 

Robber. —“ What have I done , of which you can 
omplain ?” 

Gomez. —“ Silence, or tremble ! 

Orozembo. —Beardless robber! I never yet have learned 
) tremble before man: why before thee, thou less than man?” 

Rolla. —“ That soldier, mark me, is a man. 

All are not men that wear the human form.” 

Dionysius. —“ What wonder’s this ? 

Is he thy brother ? 

Pythias. —No, not quite my brother! 

Not—yes, he is—he is my brother ! 

Dion. —Damon, is this a quibble of thy school ? 

Damon. —No quibble, for he is not so in kin, 

Jot in the fashion that the world puts on, 

Jut brother in the heart!” 

Othello. —“ What dost thou mean ? 

Iago. —Good name, in man and woman, dear my lord, 

s the immediate jewel of their souls ; 

♦Vho steals my purse , steals trash ; ’tis something, 
nothing ; 


XXXVI 


ELOCUTION. 


’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; 

But he that filches from me my good name , 

Robs me of that which not enriches him , 

And makes me poor indeed.” 

Brakenbury. —“ I am, in this, commanded to deliver 
The noble duke of Clarence to your hands. 

I’ll to the king ; and signify to him, 

That thus I have resign’d to you my charge. 

1st Murderer. —You may, sir. 

2nd Murd. —What, shall we stab him as he sleeps ? 

1st Murd .—No; he’ll say ’twas done cowardly when he 
wakes . 

2nd Murd. —When he wakes ! why, fool, he shall never 
wake until the great judgment day. 

1st Murd. —Why, then he’ll say we stabb’d him sleeping .” 

“ The quality of mercy is not strained j 

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 

Upon the place beneath. It is twice bless’d ; 

It blesses him that gives, and him that takes.” 

(i Thus am I doubly arm’d. My death and life, 

My bane and antidote, are both before me.” 

u Though the rock of my last home is shiver’d, 

And its fragments are sunk in the wave ; 

Though I feel that my soul is deliver’d 
To pain —it shall not be its slave. 

There is many a pang to pursue me ; 

They may crush, but they shall not contemn ; 

They may torture, but shall not subdue me, 

’Tis of thee that I think—not of them.” 

Almost every sentence contains certain w’ords which 
are more significant than others, and which ought to be 
distinguished by a natural and forcible emphasis. Without 
emphasis, sentences would be resolved into their original 
words, just as words would become mere syllables, without 
accent. 

If a good piece be read or recited without presenting in 
a stronger light to the “ mind’s eye” of the hearer, words 
which have a greater share in conveying the author’s 
meaning than the rest, it is uninteresting. It is like gold 


ELOCUTION. 


XXXVII 


in ingots. If, on the other hand, a poor piece be well read 
or recited, an interest is felt and manifested in hearing it. 

Dionysius, who was entirely destitute of those natural 
and acquired abilities, without which no man can write 
poetry well, had the foolish vanity to suppose that he was 
a great poet. He wrote several poems, if indeed they can 
be called so, which, notwithstanding they were “ full of 
sound and fury, signifying nothing,” were, in the hands 
of excellent readers, not only listened to with marked atten¬ 
tion, at Olympia, but, for a time, received with applause. 

Mr. Addison, of England, very justly observes : “ If non¬ 
sense, when accompanied with proper emotions of voice 
and body, has a great influence on men’s minds, what 
might we not expect from many of those admirable dis¬ 
courses which are printed in our tongue, were they delivered 
with a becoming fervor, and the most agreeable graces of 
voice and gesture.” 


IRONY. 

The elocution of irony can be, and ought to be, such as 
to create the belief with the hearer, that the speaker does 
not mean what his language implies. We occasionally hear 
lawyers, ministers, and other public speakers, say : “ 1 
speak ironically.” All ironical sentiments may be ironi¬ 
cally expressed. The correctness of this position can be 
fully tested only by the voice. But, although it cannot be 
completely done on paper, a few examples of irony will be 
given. It is a high rhetorical figure, which, if not used 
too frequently, produces a great effect upon an audience. 

Irony should be read, recited, or delivered, so as to ex¬ 
press, both by the countenance and voice, ideas or senti¬ 
ments diametrically opposed to those which are implied 
or indicated by the words or the language used. 

“ Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; 

You spurn’d me such a day ; another time 

You call’d me— dog ; and for these courtesies 

I’ll lend you thus much monies !”— Shylock. 

“ What drugs, what charms, what conjuration, and what 
mighty magic !”— Othello. 

4 


XXXV111 


ELOCUTION. 


“ Charming house, and charming lady of the house, ha * 
ha ! ha !”■— Jealous Wife. 

“ O, excellent interpreter of the laws ! master of anti¬ 
quity! corrector and amender of our constitution!”— Cicero. 

“ They boast they come but to improve our state, en¬ 
large our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error! 
Yes, they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who 
are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride. 
They offer us their protection ; yes, such protection as 
vultures give to lambs, covering and devouring them.”— 
Rolla. 

“ Cry aloud ; for he is a god ; either he is talking, or he 
is pursuing a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth, and 
must be awakened.”— Scrijture . 

In the tragedy of “ Virginius,” Icilius inquires of Vir- 
ginius, if he intends to stay and see the homage that the 
Roman people are about to render to Appius Claudius, the 
Decemvir. The administration of Appius was character¬ 
ised by the most odious features of despotism ; and Vir¬ 
ginius, whose mind was imbued with the love of liberty, 
was, therefore, decidedly opposed to it. He thus ironically 
answers the question of Icilius : 

“ Not I! stay you ; and as you made him, hail him : 

And shout, and wave your hand, and cry, long live 

Our first and last Decemvir, Appius Claudius ! 

For he is first and last, and every one ! 

Rome owes you much, Icilius.” 

That is, “ Rome owes you” [Icilius] nothing. 

“ Yet this is Rome, 

That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne 

Of beauty, ruled the world.”— Rienzi. 

Mark Antony, in his oration over Caesar’s body, with 
a design to excite odium against the murderers, repeat¬ 
edly calls them honorable men. The shrewdness of his 
speech consists in the art and power with which he 


ELOCUTION. 


xxxix 


portrays Caesar’s virtues, and in the studiousness with 
which he avoids describing, in unequivocal language, the 
atrocious crime of the assassins. Antony, after having 
shown that Caesar had always been faithful to his friends, 
of whom he was accustomed to consider Brutus one ; that 
he had filled the coffers cf Rome with ransoms from 
his own captives, and that he had treated the poor with 
great kindness, and even wept when they cried; tells his 
audience, that although Caesar was thus worthy and phi- 
lanthropic, 

** Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious; 

And Brutus is an honorable man. 

You all did see that on the Lupercal, 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And sure, he is an honorable man.” 

In the spring of the year 1836,1 witnessed the following 
specimen of irony, in the U. S. Senate : 

“ Really, Mr. President, I am delighted with the honor¬ 
able gentleman’s mode of speaking, extempore . I like his 
speeches a good deal better without his notes, than with 
them. He has, this day, thrown all ancient and modern 
orators into the shade. I cheerfully acknowledge my own 
inferiority to the honorable, learned, and surpassingly elo¬ 
quent gentleman. Had he, in the plenitude of his w isdom, 
compared me to the Ephraim actually named in the Scrip¬ 
tures, I could have borne it tolerably well; but when he 
compared me to ether , which, if I understand it rightly, is 
lighter than thin air, it was really unendurable, and I sink 
under it.” 


EMPHATIC PAUSE. 

An emphatic pause is made by suspending the voice, 
cither immediately anterior or subsequently to the utter¬ 
ance of an important thought. The voice must be so 
managed as first to create an expectation with the hearers 
of something extraordinary, and then to gratify it. When 
the pause is made before a striking word, or part of a sen- 



xi 


ELOCUTION. 


tence, is uttered, the suspension of voice must be protrac 
ted to such an extent, and with such an elevation, as to 
leave the sense broken and incomplete, until the thought 
to which the speaker wishes to direct special attention, is 
expressed. This rhetorical pause belongs only to sub¬ 
jects of great magnitude. It is, in oratory, very effective. 
Every orator should have control over it. The great and 
unrivalled practitioner of the histrionic art, Mr. Garrick, 
owes much of his celebrity to the power with which he 
used it. 

The following examples may serve as a practical exem¬ 
plification of the emphatic pause—so far as it can be illus¬ 
trated, unaided by the voice. It is represented by a dash. 

“ I know not what course others may take ; but as for 
me, give me liberty, or give me-death.” 

“ It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, 

Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars \ 

It is the cause. Yet I’ll not shed her blood ; 

Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, 

And smooth as monumental alabaster. 

Yet she must die, else she’ll betray more men. 

Put out the light, and then-put out the light . 

If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, 

I can again thy former light restore, 

Should I repent me:—but once put out thine, 

Thou cunning’st pattern of excellent nature, 

1 know not where is that Promethian heat, 

That can thy light relume. When I have plucked thv 
rose, 

I cannot give it vital growth again, 

It needs must wither. I’ll smell it on the tree. 

O, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
Justice herself to break her sword ! One more, one more, 
lie thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee 
And love thee after.” 

“ This is my testament,- 

I pray thee give it to a friend of mine, 

Who may inquire about me.” 

“ The marriage temple was prepared, 

The virgins’ voices were sent up to heaven. 





ELOCUTION. 


xli 


When death did all at once 

Rise up, and all that pomp did disappear, 

And for the altar, I beheld the tomb.-- 

He never will return.” 

“ Death looks but grimly, 

And the deep grave is cheerless . — yet I do—— 

I do prefer the certainty of death, 

Unto the possibility of dishonor.” 

“ Stop, lcilius ! 

Thou seest that hand ? It is a Roman’s, boy ; 

’Tis sworn to liberty.-It is the friend 

Of honor.” 

“ You are my witnesses, 

That this young creature I present to you, 

I do pronounce my profitably cherished 
And most deservedly beloved child, 

My daughter, truly filial, both in word 
And act, yet even more in act than word, 

And-for the man who seeks to win her love—«- 

A virgin.” 

“ That voiee-that voice-1 know that voice ! 

It minds me of a voice was coupled with it, 

And made such music, once to hear it was 
Enough to make it ever after be 
Remembered !” 

“ No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Nor in sheet, nor in shroud, we bound him ; 

But he lay-like a warrior taking his rest— 

With his martial cloak around him. 

We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, 

But left him alone-with his glory.” 

“ The time is not far distant when an awful knell shall 
tell you that the unburied remains of your revered patriot are 

passing to that sepulchral home , where your kings- 

your heroes-your sages and your poets lie,” 

Specimens in which the emphatic pause should occur, 
might easily be greatly multiplied; but the foregoing are 
4* 












xlii 


ELOCUTION. 


deemed sufficient to show its beauty and grandeur. The 
great mass of readers and speakers entirely neglect it ; but 
it is not rendered the less important or effective, by that 
consideration. 

The reasons for giving a rhetorical pause where it is 
marked, in these examples, are very obvious. It may, 
however, be well to dwell, for a moment, upon one of 
them,—Othello’s soliloquy. Othello had many admirable 
traits of character. He was frank and generous. The 
pathetic detail which he gave to Desdemona, of the hard¬ 
ships he had endured, and the dangers he had passed 

“ In the tented field,’* 

constrained her, notwithstanding he was of so different a 
complexion from her own, to love him; 

“ And he loved her, that she did pity them.” 

Othello was truly and ardently attached to her ; but he 
was hasty and impetuous in his disposition, and his suspi¬ 
cions were easily awakened. Desdemona’s nature was 
full of gentleness and compassion, and she was true and 
constant to her husband. But Iago, whose villainy has 
scarcely a parallel, even in the most odious characters 
which Shakspeare has drawn, by dark innuendoes and 
artful insinuations, relative to the conduct of Desdemona, 
succeeds in making Othello jealous of her. Othello then 
says, in a tone of despair, mingled with revenge 

“ She’s gone ! I am abused ; and my relief 

Must be-'to loathe her.” 

M hen the storm that agitated his bosom had, in some mea¬ 
sure, subsided, he came to the conclusion to terminate the 
existence of his wife. She lay upon a sofa, in a dark 
room. Othello entered it with a light. With broken 
murmurs and a convulsed and shivering frame, he wildly 
gazed upon his sleeping victim, for a short time, and then 
gave vent to his feelings, in the most sublirpe soliloquy the 
world of poetry ever produced. To read or recite it, par¬ 
ticularly the line : “ put out the light, and then put out the 
light,” in a colloquial manner, and without an emphatic 
pause in its proper place, does not convey the meaning of 
Othello ; or, if it does, conveys it in a manner as ridicu¬ 
lous, as was the reply of the Irishman, who, when asked 



ELOCUTION. 


xliii 


how his wife’s health was, answered, pertly: “ She’s dead, 
I thank you.” The phrase, “ put out the light,” as it first 
occurs, implies,—blow out the lamp or candle. Where it 

is repeated, thus : “ and then-put out the lightit 

means, the light of life, A rhetorical pause ought, therefore, 
to be made after the word “then,” expressive of the com- 
punctious visitings of nature, and of his regret, at the ne¬ 
cessity which seemed to compel him to kill Desdemona. 
To read or recite the soliloquy merely in a grammatical 
manner,—that is, without quantity, or the rhetorical pause, 
would leave the impression upon the hearer’s mind, that 
Othello had just “ as lieve” smother and stab a lady to 
w hom he had been attached by the strong and silken cords 
of love, and that lady, too, his own wife , as to blow out a 
candle or lamp. 


CLIMAX. 

Climax is of two kinds ; one of which, consists in am¬ 
plification,—that is, where the subject rises progressively 
in importance ; the other species of climax, is a figure of 
rhetoric, carried beyond the powers of the voice to express. 

The elocution of climax by amplification, requires the 
voice to be increased in force and quantity, as the subject 
rises in dignity and grandeur. The elocution of that kind 
of climax which the voice is incompetent to express, can 
only be exemplified by the voice and countenance. 

A few specimens of both kinds will, however, be here 
given : 

“ What a piece of work is man ! how noble in reason ! 
how infinite in faculties ! in form, and moving, how ex¬ 
press and admirable ! in action, how like an angel! in ap¬ 
prehension, how like a god /”— Hamlet. 

“ It is a crime to put a Roman citizen in bonds; it is 
the height of guilt to scourge him ; little less than parricide 
to put him to death ; what name, then, shall I give to the 
act of crucifying him ?” — Cicero . 

“ The cloud-capt tow r ers, the gorgeous palaces, 

The solemn temple, the great globe ilselj.” — TheTempest, 




x!iv 


ELOCUTION. 


“ Days, months, years, and ages.”— Dimond. 

“ Clarence is come, false, fleeting , ferjured Clarence .” 

“ For thou hast said in thine heart, I will ascend into 
heaven ; I will exalt my throne above the stars of God ;. I 
will sit, also, upon the mount of the congregation, in the 
sides of the north ; I will ascend above the heights of the 
clouds ; I will be like the Most High !” — Isaiah . 

Climax sometimes produces a very great effect.. In the 
following example from the Bible, it not only overwhelmed 
Eli in grief; but actually occasioned his immediate death. 
“ And the man said unto Eli, I am he that came out of the 
army. And he said, what is there done, my son ? And the 
messenger answered and said, Israel is fled before the 
Philistines, and there hath been also a great slaughter 
among the people; and thy two sons, also, Hophni and 
Phinehas, are dead ; and the ark of God is taken.” When 
Eli was informed, not only that the Philistines had con- 
quered Israel, and killed, among others, his two beloved 
sons ; but that they had taken “ the ark of God,” for the 
safety of which, he had felt very solicitous ; “ he fell off 
* the seat backward, by the side of the gate, and his neck 
brake, and he died.” 

Mr. Burke, in one of his speeches, which, although it 
was made under a monarchical government, breathes the 
noble sentiments of liberty, says : “ Such is the state of 
America, that, after wading up to your eyes in blood, you 
could only end just where you began ; that is, to tax 

where no revenue is to be found, to-My voice fails 

me; my inclination, indeed, carries me no farther; all is 
confusion beyond it.” 

Norman Leslie, in the work which bears his name, on 
parting with his friends, exclaims : “ Thank God ! it is 
done :—The bond is severed—the darkness, the bitterness 
of death is passed. It is this, dear Albert, that I most 
feared—not death itself, but these scenes of frightful grief 
and harrowing affection. But we, too, must part. I must 
meet my fate alone—without a friend—without a hope— 
to the bar—to the sentence—to the scaf-.” 




ELOCUTION - . 


xlv 


GESTURE, OR RHETORICAL ACTION. 

Elocution being but another word for delivery, includes 
gesture, or rhetorical action. The ancient Greeks and 
Romans attached great importance to gesture ; and, it 
they did not appreciate it too highly, the moderns certainly 
undervalue it. Quintillian says, that “ it is not of so much 
moment what our compositions are, as how they are pro¬ 
nounced ; since it is the manner of the delivery, by which 
the audience is moved.” Cicero, Aristotle, Pericles, De¬ 
mosthenes, and other renowned writers and orators of an¬ 
cient times, were of the same opinion. The rhetoricans 
taught their pupils, as well graceful gestures, as how to 
manage their voices. 

Whether voice or gesture has the greater influence, is a 
question, about which they were divided in opinion. It is 
recorded in history, that Roscius acquired such wonderful 
skill, as to be able to express sentences or sentiments “ as 
many different ways by his gestures, as Cicero could by 
his voice.” It is not, therefore, a matter of surprise, that 
the intelligent Greeks and sage Romans should have enter¬ 
tained conflicting opinions upon the relative or compara¬ 
tive influence of voice and gesture. Natural, an : mated, 
and graceful gestures are as necessary and effective now, 
as they were at any former period of the world. The im¬ 
portant precept : “ Be graceful in your gestures,” is not 
limited in its application to one age or one country. It 
commends itself to the good sense of all men, of all condi¬ 
tions, especially readers and public speakers. 

He whose gestures spontaneously conform to his subject, 
and who, in other respects, is truly eloquent, ean, in the 
most effectual manner, make himself a master over other 
men’s minds. Such an orator has power 

“To stir a fever in the blood of age, 

And make an infant’s sinews 

Strong as steel.” 

The sight is the most delightful, if not the most perfect 
of all our senses. Gesture, therefore, addresses itself with 
great power to the eye. Reading or speaking, in order to 
be highly interesting, must be accompanied by proper ges¬ 
tures. Such were the vehemence of action and gracefulness 


xlvi 


ELOCUTION. 


of gesture, with which Demosthenes used to speak, that his 
antagonist, iEschines, whom he had banished from Athens, 
on reading over one of the orations of Demosthenes, when 
at Rhodes, and seeing that all who were present, admired 
it, could not forbear saying: “ If the bare reading of it 
affects you so much, how much more would you have won¬ 
dered, had you heard it delivered by Demosthenes himself.” 
It was certainly the judicious action and energetic delivery 
of the great Athenian orator, which extorted from his rival 
and adversary such remarkable and honorable testimony. 

We form some opinion of a speaker, either favorable or 
unfavorable, from our first view of him. There is some¬ 
thing in the manner in which a speaker walks into a house, 
or a pulpit, and takes his seat, and rises to address an as¬ 
sembly, which prejudices us either in his favor or against 
him. The moment an accomplished fencer makes a thrust, 
we perceive that he well understands the sword exercise. 
If the address of a speaker be good ; if, moreover, his coun¬ 
tenance and general appearance be indicative of scholarship 
and intelligence, the presentation itself is a burst of elo¬ 
quence. 

To point out all the faults of which speakers and readers 
are guilty, would swell this work beyond the limits within 
which the author must be confined. If a person com¬ 
mences speaking immediately upon presenting himself be¬ 
fore an audience, without first casting his eyes around re¬ 
spectfully on the members of it,—if his appearance and 
deportment are awkward,—if he puts his hands into his 
pockets, plays with his watch-chain, and looks with great 
attention on. a little piece of paper,—if he assumes an un¬ 
manly posture,—if he makes his oratory itinerating by 
travelling alternately to the right and then the left,—if his 
eyes are fixed on one object, or are downcast, or partly or 
perfectly closed,—it he tastes of a glass of water, and spits a 
feyv times,—if, in his gestures, he “ saws the air,”—if all 
this, or any considerable part of it, be true of him, he may 
rest assured, that such faults, although they may be com¬ 
paratively unimportant, will, nevertheless, create the be¬ 
lief with his hearers, that he is poorly qualified, either to 
instruct or amuse them, and also, that his habits are much 
u niore honored in the breach than in the observance.” 

It is, undoubtedly, less difficult to speak negatively on 
the subject of gestures, than affirmatively ; but there are 
certain general rules, from which an orator should seldom, 


ELOCUTION. 


xlvii 


it ever, depart. He should never begin a discourse imme¬ 
diately on presenting himself before an audience- His 
eyes should first be cast upon the members of it, with an 
air of respect. He should assume a dignified posture, and 
stand as firm as a rock, and yet as gracefully as a Chester¬ 
field. His head must not be thrown back nor forward. 
His shoulders should neither be elevated nor drawn down. 
The right hand should be more frequently used than the 
left. Gestures should be made from the elbow, and not 
from the shoulder. -They should not be made with the 
fingers, but with the palm of the hand open. When the 
speaker points towards an object or a person, on the left of 
him, the left hand only should be used. The motion of 
both hands together, is often demanded by the sentiments 
or emotions of the orator. 

Thoughts should be indicated by the countenance, and 
especially by the eye, before they are heard in words. 
Gesticulation should certainly precede or be used during the 
utterance of the words, it is intended to enforce. It should 
never be used subsequently to their utterance. As Shak- 
speare says, “ all should be done gently .” 

No speakers, except the practitioners of the histrionic 
art, should, like pugilists, double up their fists. An inci¬ 
dent is said to have occurred in the days of king James II., 
of England, which shows the ungracefulness of such an 
awkward gesture. A clergyman, eminent for his talents 
and piety, who was honored with the attendance of the 
king, with a view of impressing upon the king’s mind an 
important truth, fixed his attention upon him, and, doub¬ 
ling up his fist, struck upon the desk with great force, and 
exclaimed : “ There ! who dares to deny that ?” “ No 

one,” said king James, in a low voice, “that stands in 
reach of your great fist.” 

A speaker should not stand perfectly straight ; he should 
incline to the right and forwards. When he commences 
or finishes a discourse, both his arms should hang, as they 
naturally do, by the side. When gestures are made, in the 
course of a sermon or speech, by movements of the arm, 
the elbow ought to be kept at a distance from the body. 

We learn how great the influence of gesture is, from the 
actor’s art. Cicero justly observes, « that few can resist 
the effects, even of the moderate skill exhibited on the 
stage.” The effects produced by the accomplished and 
unequalled Garrick, were wonderful. The bishop of Lon- 


xlviii 


ELOCUTION. 


don inquired of him, how he could interest his hearers so 
much by mere fiction, as to affect them, even unto tears, 
when “ I cannot,” continued the bishop, “ produce such 
effects upon my audience, with the most solemn realities 
of religion.” The shrewd and philosophic reply of Garrick 
was : “I represent fiction as though it were reality ; and 
you, reality as though it were fiction.” 

Those automatical gestures which are sometimes taught, 
and that mechanical formality and intolerable affectation 
which are often countenanced, in literary institutions, 
should be entirely and forever laid aside. Excess in ges¬ 
tures, is to be avoided, as w r ell as awkward ones. It is 
much better to have too little, than too much rhetorical 
action. The observations on gesticulation, will be con¬ 
cluded w r ith an extract from Dr. Blair, w r ho, in one of his 
lectures on Delivery, says: “ To superficial thinkers, the 
management of the voice and gesture in public speaking, 
may appear to relate to decoration only, and to be one of 
the inferior arts of catching an audience. But this is far 
from being the case. It is intimately connected with what 
is, or ought to be, the end of all public speaking, persua¬ 
sion ; and, therefore, deserves the study of the most grave 
and serious speakers, as much as of those whose only aim 
it is to please.” 


SELECT PIECES 

FOR 

EXERCISES IN ELOCUTION. 


ELOCUTION.— Dr. Channing . 

L A people should be guarded against temptation 
to unlawful pleasures, by furnishing the means of 
innocent ones. There is an amusement, having an 
affinity with the drama, which might be usefully intro¬ 
duced among us—I mean elocution. A work of 
genius, recited by a man of fine taste, enthusiasm, and 
good elocution, is a very pure and high gratification. 

2. Were this art cultivated and encouraged, great 
numbers, now insensible to the most beautiful compo¬ 
sitions, might be waked up to their excellence and 
power. It is not easy to conceive of a more effectual 
way of spreading a refined taste through a community. 
The drama undoubtedly appeals more strongly to the 
passions than recitation, but the latter brings out the 
meaning of the. author more. 

3. Shakspeare, well recited, would be better under¬ 
stood than on the stage. Then, in recitation, we 
escape the weariness of listening to poor performers, 
who, after all, fill up most of the time at the theatre. 
Recitation, sufficiently varied, so as to include pieces 

5 



50 


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of chaste wit, as well as of pathos, beauty, and sublimity, 
is adapted to our present intellectual progress, as 
much as the drama falls below it. 

4. Should this exhibition be introduced among us 
successfully, the result would be, that the power of 
recitation would be extensively called forth, and this 
would be added to our social and domestic pleasures. 

The above extract is from a discourse, delivered before the 
Massachusetts Temperance Society, in the year 1836, by the Rev. 
William E. Channing, of Boston. It shows clearly, that elocu¬ 
tion is an emendation of morals. It moreover sets forth, most 
happily, its superiority over the drama. It should be read in a 
colloquial style. As a moral and philosophical essayist and 
writer, Dr. Channing has no superiors, and few, if any equals 
among the living. He ranks so high abroad, as well as at home, 
that when Spurzheim, the celebrated phrenologist, was asked what 
prompted him to leave Europe, and visit the United States, he 
replied : “Shall I not see Dr. Channing 1” 


ELOCUTION OF LADIES.— Mrs . Sigourney. 

1. Reading aloud, with propriety and grace, is an ac¬ 
complishment worthy of the acquisition of females. 
To enter into the spirit of an author, and convey his 
sentiments with a happy adaptation of tone, emphasis, 
and manner, is no common attainment. It is peculiarly 
valuable in our sex, because it so often gives them an 
opportunity of imparting pleasure and improvement to 
an assembled family, during the winter evening or the 
protracted storm. In the zeal for feminine accomplish¬ 
ments, it would seem that the graces of elocution had 
been too little regarded. 

2. Permit me to fortify my opinion, by the authority 
of the Rev. Mr. Gallaudet. “ I cannot understand 
why it should be thought, as it sometimes is, a depar¬ 
ture from female delicacy, to read in a promiscuous, 
social circle, if called upon to do so, from any peculiar 
circumstance, and to read, too, as well as Garrick him¬ 
self, if the young lady possesses the power of doing it. 



FOR EXERCISES. 


51 


3. “ Why may she not do this, with as much genuine 
modesty, and with as much of a desire to oblige her 
friends, and with as little of ostentation, as to sit 
down in the same circle, to the piano, and play and sing 
in the style of the first masters l If, to do the former, 
is making too much of a display of her talents, why 
should not the latter be so ? Nothing but some strange 
freak of fashion, can have made a difference.” 

4. Fine reading is an accomplishment, where the 
inherent music, both of the voice and of the intellect, 
may be uttered ; for the scope and compass of each, 
is often fully taxed, and happily developed, in the in¬ 
terpretation of delicate shades of meaning, and grada¬ 
tions of thought. Its first element, to be clearly 
under stood, is often too much disregarded, so that, with 
some who are pronounced fashionable readers, low, or 
artificial intonations so perplex the listener, as to leave 
it doubtful whether “ the uncertain sound be piped or 
harped.” 

As elocution includes conversation and reading, as well as 
public speaking, it is a matter of nearly as much interest to ladies, 
as to gentlemen. A large portion of the time of ladies, is em¬ 
ployed in conversation and reading. To read end converse 
well, is, therefore, a very desirable attainment. The above ex¬ 
tract from Mrs. Sigourney’s excellent “ Letters to Young Ladies,” 
is commended to their perusal, in the hope that they will be 
induced to acquire a pure, polished, and graceful elocution. 


ELOCUTION,—ITS EFFECTS UPON TIIE 
HEALTH. — Dr. Andrew Combe . 

1. Reading aloud and recitation are more useful and 
invigorating muscular exercises, than is generally im¬ 
agined. In forming and undulating the voice, the 
chest and the diaphragm are in constant action, and 
communicate to the stomach a healthy and agreeable 
stimulus ; and, consequently, where the voice is raised 
and elocution rapid, as in many kinds of public speak- 



SELECT PIECES 


52 

ing, the muscular effort is more fatiguing than the 
mental, especially to those who are unaccustomed to it. 

2. When care is taken, however, not to carry read¬ 
ing aloud or reciting so far at one time, as to excite 
the least sensation of soreness or fatigue in the chest, 
and it is duly repeated, it is extremely useful in de¬ 
veloping and giving tone to the organs of respiration, 
and to the general system. As exercises in reading 
aloud, public speaking, and lecturing, require some ex¬ 
ertion, they ought to be indulged in with prudence, 
and with constant reference to the constitution and 
health of the individual. 

3. When early resorted to, and steadily persevered 
in, they are instrumental in warding off disease, and 
communicating strength to an important function. 
But when begun suddenly, and carried to excess by 
persons with weak lungs, they are more directly inju¬ 
rious than almost any other cause. It is not uncom¬ 
mon for young divines to give themselves up to 
preaching, without any previous preparation for the 
effort which it requires ; and to experience, in conse¬ 
quence, pains in the chest, spitting of blood, and other 
dangerous forms of disease, which often extinguish 
their brightest prospects in the morning of life. 

4. Sacrifices of this kind, are the more to be lamen¬ 
ted, because it is probable, that, by a well planned 
system of gradual preparation, many who fall victims, 
might find in their profession, even a source of safety. 
The celebrated and lamented Cuvier is considered to 
have been saved from an early death, by engaging in 
the moderate and regular exercise of his lungs in 
lecturing. Other examples of the same kind, might be 
mentioned. 

5. But it is important to observe, that in all 
of them, the exercise was, at all times, accurately 
proportioned to the existing state of the lungs. Had 
active disease existed, or the exertion required, been 
beyond what the lungs were fully able to bear, the 
effect would have been, not to improve health, but to 
destroy fife ; and this condition of accurate relation 


FOR EXERCISES. 


53 


between the amount of exercise and the state of the 
organization, must never, for a moment, be overlooked. 

6. With a little care, however, the point at which 
direct exercise of the lungs ought to stop, may easily 
be determined by observing its effects. The loud and 
distinct speaking enforced in many public schools, is 
productive of much good to the young. 

7. Let any one who doubts its efficacy as an exer¬ 
cise of the lungs, attend to what passes in his own body 
on reading aloud a single paragraph, and he will find, 
not only that deep inspirations and full expirations are 
encouraged, but that a considerable impulse is com¬ 
municated to the bowels, affording a marked contrast 
to the slight breathing and quiescent posture of those 
whose voices never rise above a whisper. 

The above article, from Dr. Combe, is worthy of attention. 
That we all ought to be careful of our health, is too plain to 
require argument. Our duty and happiness alike prompt us to 
preserve it. Some of the ancients used to employ physicians to 
prevent their becoming sick. If we are temperate and prudent, 
and occasionally engage in exercises in elocution, we shal l seldom, 
if ever, need medical aid. The beneficial effects of vocal gym¬ 
nastics, judiciously conducted, are not yet fully appreciated ; but 
there is, I think, a probability that they will, ere long, form a part 
of every liberal course of instruction in all our literary institu¬ 
tions. 


THE VOICE .—Journal of Health. 

1. The preservation of the voice, and the means of 
improving its tone and compass, are subjects of no little 
interest, especially to the public speaker. Even 
though it be exerted only in ordinary conversation, in 
reading aloud, or in singing,—whether as a part of 
religious worship or in the social circle, a full, clear, 
and pleasing voice, must be considered as no mean ac¬ 
complishment. 

2. The first and most important rule for the preser¬ 
vation of the voice, supported equally by ancient 



54 


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authorities and modern experience, is, that the public 
speaker should, if he “ strive for the mastery,” be 
habitually temperate in all things ; moderate in the 
indulgence of the table, and not given to any personal 
excess. 

3. The voice should not be exerted after a full meal. 
It should never be urged beyond its strength, nor 
strained to its utmost pitch, without intermission. 
Frequent change of pitch, is the best preservative. 
The voice, when hoarse, should not be exerted, if it 
can possibly be avoided. 

4. To speak well with any thing in the mouth, is 
scarcely possible. Few things are so injurious to the 
voice, as tobacco. By the use of it, the voice be¬ 
comes dry, and is rendered harsh and broken. Snuf¬ 
fing is even more objectionable than chewing : by 
causing the breathing to be carried on solely through 
the mouth, the use of snuff produces very nearly the 
same change in the tone of the voice, as occurs in an 
individual laboring under a cold. 

5. The voice, as well as the health of a speaker, suf¬ 
fers materially, unless the chest is allowed to expand 
freely. Hence, all compression or restraint should be 
carefully removed from, this portion of the body : for 
the same reason, an erect position should be assumed,, 
as well in speaking and reading aloud, as in singing. 

6. The tone of the voice is also considerably im¬ 
paired and its strength diminished, by a tightly drawn 
or large cravat. The neck should, therefore, be free 
from compression, and but lightly covered. The great 
means of improving the voice, as of all other improve¬ 
ments, is constant and daily practice. 

7. The ancients were in the daily practice of pre¬ 
paratory declamation. Their rule was, after proper 
bodily exercise, to begin at the lowest tones of their 
voice, and proceed gradually to the highest. They 
are said to have produced about five hundred lines in 
this manner, which were committed to memory, in 
order that the exertions of the voice might be the less 
embarrassed. 


FOR EXERCISES, 


55 


8. In order to strengthen the voice, Mr. Sheridan 
advises that such persons as have weak utterance, 
should daily practice to read and repeat in a large 
room, in the hearing of a friend. The latter should 
be placed at the farthest point at which he can hear 
distinctly, without th'e voice of the speaker being 
strained. There he should remain during his declama¬ 
tion. 

9. It will be found, perhaps, that the same practice 
will be more easily and effectually pursued in the open 
air, particularly as every speaker cannot conveniently 
obtain the use of a room of the requisite dimensions. 

The ideas promulgated in the above article from the “Journal 
of Health,” published at Philadelphia, are perfectly correct. 
Health is certainly promoted and the powers of the voice greatly 
developed, by reading, conversing, rec ting, or exploding the ele¬ 
ments, aloud. It is equally true, that all stimulating drinks and 
things are prejudicial to health, and particularly so to the voice. 
Especially, do ardent spirit, wine, tobacco, and snuff, injure the 
voice as well as the general health. The consumption, to which 
so many fall victims among us. may, in some instances, be avoided 
by rhetorical and gymnastic exercises. The Latin writers put it 
upon that ground. Seneca advises his friend Lucihus, who was 
of a consumptive habit, to engage in reading and declamation. 
Such exercises strengthen the chest and fortify the lungs against 
disease. The learned Armstrong says : 

u Read aloud resounding Homer's strains. 

And wield the thunder of Demosthenes:— 

The chest, so exercised, improves in strength. 

And quick vibrations, through the system drive 
The restless blood.” 


DEMOSTHENES.— Rollin, 

1. Demosthenes had a weak voice, a thick way of 
speaking, and a very short breath, so that he was often 
obliged to stop in the midst of his sentences for respir¬ 
ation. This occasioned his being hissed by the whole 
audience. As he withdrew, hanging down his head, 
and in the utmost confusion, Satyrus, one of the most 



56 


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excellent actors of those times, who was his friend, 
met him ; and having learned from himself the cause 
of his being so much dejected, he assured him that the 
evil was not without remedy, and that the case was not 
so desperate as he imagined. 

2. He desired him to repeat some of the verses of 
Sophocles or Euripides to him, which he accordingly 
did. Satyrus spoke them after him, and gave them 
such a tone, gesture, and spirit, that Demosthenes him¬ 
self found them to be quite different from what they 
were in his own manner of speaking. He perceived 
plainly what he wanted, and applied himself to acquir¬ 
ing it. 

3. His efforts to correct his natural defect of utter¬ 
ance, and to perfect himself in pronunciation, of which 
his friend had made him understand the value, seem 
almost incredible; and prove that an industrious perse¬ 
verance can surmount all things. He stammered to 
such a degree, that he could not pronounce some let¬ 
ters ; among others, the letter R, with which the art 
he studied begins ; and he was so short-breathed, that 
he could not utter a whole period without stopping. 

4. He overcame these obstacles at length, by putting 
pebble-stones into his mouth, and pronouncing several 
verses in that manner without interruption, and with 
walking and going up steep and difficult places; so that 
at last, no letter made him hesitate, and his breath 
held out through the longest periods. He went also 
to the sea shore ; and, while the waves were in the 
most violent agitation, he pronounced harangues, to 
accustom himself, by the confused noise of the waters, 
to the roar of the people, and the tumultuous cries of 
public assemblies. 

5. Demosthenes took no less care of his action than 
his voice. He had a large looking-glass in his house, 
which served to teach him gesture, and at which he 
used to declaim, before he spoke in public. To cor¬ 
rect an ill habit which he had contracted, of shrugging 
up his shoulders, he practised standing upright in a 
very narrow pulpit, over which hung a sword, in such 
a manner, that if, in the heat of the action, that motion 


FOR EXERCISES. 57 

escaped him, the point of the weapon might serve at 
the same time, to admonish and correct him. 

6. His application to studies was no less surprising. 
To be the more removed from noise, and less subject 
to distraction, he caused a small room to be made for 
him under ground, in which he shut himself up, some¬ 
times for whole months, shaving on purpose half his 
head and face, that he might not be in a condition to 
go abroad. It was there, by the help of a small lamp, 
he composed his admirable orations, which were said 
by those who envied him, to smell of the oil, to imply 
they were too elaborate. 

7. His pains were well bestowed ; for it was by 
these means, that he carried the art of declaiming to 
the highest degree of perfection of which it was capa¬ 
ble : whence it is plain, he well knew its value and 
importance. When he was asked three several times, 
which quality he thought most necessary in an orator, 
he answered each time, “ Pronunciation !” 

8. By making the reply three times successively, he 
insinuated, that pronunciation is the only qualification, 
of which the want could least be concealed, and which 
is the most capable of concealing other defects; and 
that alone could give considerable weight, even to an 
indifferent orator, when, without it, the most excellent 
could not hope for the least success. As to Demos¬ 
thenes, Cicero tells us that his success was so great, 
that all Greece came in crowds to Athens to hear him 
speak ; and he adds, that merit so great as his, could 
not but have the desired effect. 

Demosthenes, the famous Grecian orator, was born at Athens, 
then the rival of Rome, 381 years anterior to the Christian era. 
He was a pupil of Plato ; and so great was the ardor and diligence 
with which he entered on the study of elocution, under the tuition 
of that celebrated philosopher and traveller, that almost in defiance 
of nature herself, we see him “ drag up drowned honor by the 
locks,” by the power of that eloquence which prompted his hear¬ 
ers to cry out as one man : “ Let us march against Philip—let us 
fight for our liberties —letus conquer or die.” When Demosthenes 
said that pronunciation or action is the first, second, and last 
qualify of an orator, he meant elocution. In his day, those words 
implied delivery. Had he not included by these words, the voice, 


53 


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as well as gesture, he would not have devoted years to its culti¬ 
vation. Rather than fall into the hands of Antipater, he took a 
dose of poison, and expired in his 60th year. 


CICERO .—North American Review. 

1. In looking back to the great men of antiquity, wc 
know of no one to whom we feel more strongly at¬ 
tracted, or who seems to be more closely connected 
with the present, than Cicero. His works are more 
various, as well as extensive, than those of any other 
ancient writer, and we feel that we know him through 
these. 

2. We are brought nearer to him than to any one of 
the ancients. It seems as if we had actually listened 
to his voice in the senate house or the forum, or con¬ 
versed with him and his friends in his beautiful Tuscu- 
lan gardens, and gathered from his own lips his deep 
and pure philosophy. 

3. And, more than this, we are sensible of the power 
of his mind, of its vast range through the past, present, 
and future. We perceive his capacity for compre¬ 
hending all the improvements of society, and we feel 
that if he were brought to life, at present, he would 
be as one of us. 

4. We figure to ourselves the delight with which he 
would view and understand the advances made since his 
time, the intuitive readiness with which he would ac¬ 
commodate himself to the laws of society ; the perfect 
gentleman he would appear, though suddenly placed in 
a scene so new, so trying, so full of wonders. 

5. Cicero’s name is identified with eloquence. His 
great pursuit, the object to which his life was devoted, 
the passion of his youth, the last and mightiest effort 
of his old age, was eloquence. The idea of a perfect 
orator existed in his mind almost from childhood, and 
was never lost from his view. He looked to it as to a 
bright beacon advancing constantly before him; never, 



FOR EXERCISES. „ 59 

perhaps, fully reached; but attracting him by its 
brightness, and alluring him ever onward. 

G. Cicero was a remarkable instance of a man who 
understood himself. He knew his own character 
thoroughly; he understood wherein his greatest power 
consisted, and he used every means to cultivate those 
faculties which he was aware could alone ensure success. 
He very early in life formed the conception of that 
perfect character, which he says an orator ought to 
be,—a man who has cultivated every power to the 
highest degree, to whom the arts, the ornaments of life, 
nature itself, pays tribute; whose mind is enriched by 
the knowledge of all sciences and the thoughts and 
imaginings of kindred spirits in all ages ; and who 
gathers into himself the results of genius of every 
period, country, and form. 

7. Upon this model, Cicero formed his character. 
He was aware that his powers were equal to the task. 
He knew that he could comprehend all that man had 
known; that his powers of acquiring and his industry 
were unsurpassed ; and still more, he felt that know¬ 
ledge in his mind would not be a dead and useless 
weight, but that he had power to mould and trans¬ 
form, to bring forth new and fairer forms, and to be¬ 
queath to all futurity, high and worthy thoughts. 

8. From his earliest years, therefore, he devoted 
himself to literary pursuits. He made himself familiar, 
not only with the rhetorician’s art, but also with the 
whole science of Roman jurisprudence—two branches 
which had always been considered as forming distinct 
professions. After gaining all the knowledge to be 
found in Rome, he travelled to Greece ; he there per¬ 
fected himself in the language of that country, and 
became familiar with her rich philosophy and litera¬ 
ture. 

9. In Asia, he was surrounded by the most distin¬ 
guished philosophers and orators, with whom he daily 
conversed and reasoned, and from whom he probably 
obtained much of that knowledge of ancient philoso¬ 
phy, which he displays in his writings. His mind was 
stored with all human knowledge; the beautiful poetry 


(50 SELECT PIECES 

of Greece was familiar to him ; he had walked in the 
groves of Academus, and the genius of the place had 
penetrated his soul ; he had listened to the various 
creeds of the schools, and had boldly formed his own 
opinions without suffering the shackles of other minds; 
and he returned to make all his acquirements contri¬ 
bute to one object, the profession of eloquence. 

10. Of all the manifestations of human power, 
Cicero regarded that of the orator as the greatest, and 
as approaching nearest to the divine nature. To this, 
he made all knowledge and all talent subservient ; to 
this, poetrv, philosophy, and history, were but the 
ministering attendants. We gather from his own 
writings, his exalted opinion of the eloquent man. 

11. “ Let us trace the qualifications/’ says he, “of the 
orator, such as Mark Antony never saw, nor any other 
man whom we can, perchance, describe, as he. ought 
to be, though, perhaps, we can neither imitate him, nor 
show any example of such a man; for these qualities 
are hardly granted to a god. 

12. “The orator must possess the knowledge of many 
sciences, without which, a mere flow of words is vain 
and ridiculous ; his style of speaking must be formed, 
not only by a choice of words, but by a skilful arrange¬ 
ment and construction of sentences ; he must be deeply 
versed in every emotion which nature has given to 
man ; for all skill and power in speaking, consist in 
soothing or exciting the minds of the audience. 

13. “In addition to this, he must possess a ready wit 
and pleasantry, an amount of erudition such as is be¬ 
coming to a freeman, and a quickness of repartee, 
united with a refined elegance and urbanity. He 
must be familiar with all antiquity, and be provided 
with a store of examples ; nor must he neglect the 
science of laws and jurisprudence. 

14. “ What shall I say of action? which depends 
upon the motions of the body, the gestures, the coun¬ 
tenance, the tones, and changes of the voice. The 
great importance of action may be discovered from the 
actor’s frivolous art; for who is ignorant how few can 
resist its effects ? And what shall I say of the memo- 


FOR EXERCISES. 


til 


ry 1 that treasure of all learning, without whose aid in 
preserving the knowledge we have acquired, or the 
thoughts we have originated, all the most valuable 
qualities of an orator would be lost. 

15. “ Let us no longer wonder, then, that eloquence 
is so rare, since it consists of so many accomplishments, 
each of which would seem to be the work of life in 
acquiring.” 

16. Such was Cicero’s notion of the perfect orator, 
and such he endeavored to render himself. He was 
undoubtedly correct in regarding eloquence as the 
concentration of human genius, the fullest develope- 
ment of all the powers, and the manifestation of the 
highest qualities of our nature. 

17. There is certainly no display of mortal power so 
imposing as that of the great orator, at the moment of 
putting forth his energies ; when the highest mental 
faculties are called into action, in concert with those 
physical powers which are so noble that the Greeks 
held them divine ; when the “ thoughts that breathe” 
and the “words that burn,” are enforced by the graceful 
and impressive gesture, the form that seems to tower 
up and dilate, the beaming eye, the voice with its 
thousand tones, embodying thought in the most resist¬ 
less forms, and the enraptured crowds are ready to 
cry out: “ It is the voice of a god, and not of a man.” 

18. Cicero loved eloquence as an art ; he felt that 
his capacities were peculiarly adapted to it ; and, 
smitten with the ideal that existed in his mind, he was 
urged by an irresistible desire to give it expression. 
He bound himself for life to the pursuit, and no change 
of circumstance, no danger, no distress, could induce 
him to abandon it. The iron hand of the dictator could 
not crush the growing flower of Roman oratory. 

19. The birth place of art is in the soul; it does not 
depend upon rules : it exists previously to all theories 
and sciences ; it is,a perfect idea, an image of beauty 
dwelling in the mind in distinct and radiant traits, 
which we seek to clothe in some form that may be 
.comprehended by the senses. 


62 


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20. The ideal of eloquence existed in Cicero’s mind 
above all rules. It was with him something not acquired 
by rules, but pre-existtog in his mind ; aided, but not 
formed by industry; giving birth to rhetoric, not receiv¬ 
ing existence from it. To but few individuals has the 
beautiful conception been granted. 

21. Cicero’s style belongs peculiarly to himself. 
Language with him becomes a new thing ; it is per¬ 
fectly transparent and radiant with thought. It seems, 
when we are reading his works, as if intellect itself 
had become visible before us. We feel sure at the 
first sentence Cicero utters, that he will prevail. 

22. The depth of pathos, passages of heart-rending 
emotion, light and playful satire, blasting sarcasm, the 
deep tone of indignation, gathering strength as it rolls 
on, and swelling into bursts of thunder, and the furi¬ 
ous storm of invective which crush and overwhelm the 
criminal ; all are found in these wonderful remains of 
art. 

Cicero, to whom the above most admirable article relates, and 
whose name is but another for eloquence itself, was born in the 
city of Arpinum, 107 years before Christ. He was the greatest 
man, whether we consider him as an orator, a statesman, or a 
philosopher, that Rome ever produced. Being proscribed by 
Mark Antony, far freedom of opinion, he was assassinated at the 
age of 64. 


ELOQUENCE,—ITS TRUE NATURE.— 

D. Webster. 

1. When public bodies are to be addressed on mo¬ 
mentous occasions, when great interests are at stake, 
and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable in 
speech farther than it is connected with high intellec¬ 
tual and moral endowments. Clearness, "force, and 
earnestness, are the qualities which produce conviction. 

2. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in 
speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and 
learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. 



FOR EXERCISES. 


63 


Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, 
but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, 
—in the subject,—and in the occasion. 

3. Affected passion, intense expression, tlie pomp of 
declamation, all may aspire after it: they cannot 
reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreak¬ 
ing of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth 
of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native 
force. 

4. The graces taught in the schools, the costly orna¬ 
ments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and 
disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their 
wives, their children, and their country, hang on the 
decision of the hour. 

5. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric is 
vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even 
genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the 
presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is elo¬ 
quent ; then, self-devotion is eloquent. 

6. The clear conception, out-running the deductions 
of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the daunt¬ 
less spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the 
eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole 
man onward, right onward to his object—this, this is 
eloquence ; or, rather, it is something greater and 
higher than all eloquence,— it is action, noble, sublime, 
godlike action. 

The above judicious observations on eloquence, are extracted 
from Daniel Webster’s discourse at Boston, on John Adams and 
Thomas Jefferson, both of whom died in 1826, on the 4th of 
July ! In describing the characteristics of genuine eloquence, he 
has unconsciously described his own. He has, for many years, 
been, and still is, a member of the Senate of the United States 
from Massachusetts, his adopted State. His features are promi¬ 
nent, especially his forehead ; his eyes, which are over-arched 
by dark, heavy brows, are expressive and penetrating; and hig 
countenance is so serious in its aspect, that it seems to border on 
solemnity. 


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ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.— Dr. B. Rush. 

3. The eloquence of the pulpit is nearly allied to 
music, in its effects upon the moral faculty. It is true, 
there can be no permanent change in the temper and 
moral conduct of a man, that is not derived from the 
understanding and the will ; but we must remember 
that these two powers of the mind are most assailable 
when they are attacked through the avenue of the pas¬ 
sions ; and these we know, when agitated by the pow r - 
ers of eloquence, exert a mechanical action upon every 
power of the soul. 

2. Hence we find in every age and country where 
Christianity has been propagated, the most accom¬ 
plished orators have generally been the most successful 
reformers of mankind. There must be a defect of 
eloquence in a preacher, who, with the resources for 
oratory which are contained in the Old and New Tes¬ 
taments, does not produce in every man who hears 
him, at least, a temporary love of virtue. 

3. I grant the eloquence of the pulpit alone cannot 
change men into Christians, but it certainly possesses 
the power of changing brutes into men. Could the 
eloquence of the stage be properly directed, it is im¬ 
possible to conceive the extent of its mechanical effects 
upon morals. 

4. The language and imagery of Shakspeare upon 
moral and religious subjects, poured upon the passions 
and the senses in all the beauty and variety of drama¬ 
tic representation ; who could resist or describe their 
effects 1 

Dr. Benjamin Rush was born near Philadelphia, in 1745, and 
died in the year 1813, He was very distinguished. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


65 


TASTE FOR READING .—Sir John Herschell. 

1. If I were to pray for a taste which should stand 
me in stead under every variety of circumstances, and 
be a source of happiness and cheerfulness through life, 
and shield against its many ills, however things might 
go amiss, and the world frown upon me, it would be a 
taste for reading. I speak of it, of course, only as a 
worldly advantage, and not in the slightest degree su¬ 
perseding or derogating from the higher office and 
surer and stronger panoply of religious principles ; but 
as a taste, an instrument, and a mode of pleasurable 
gratification. 

2. Give a man this taste and the means of gratifying 
it, and you can hardly fail of making him a happy man, 
unless, indeed, you put into his hands a most perverse 
selection of books. You place him in contact with the 
best society of every period of history—with the wis¬ 
est, the wittiest, the tenderest, the bravest, and the 
purest characters which have adorned humanity. You 
make him a denizen ot all nations, a cotemporary of all 
ages. The world has been created for him. 

3. It is hardly possible that his character should not 
take a higher and a better tone from the constant habit 
of associating with a class of thinkers, to say the least 
of it, above the average of humanity. It is morally 
impossible that the manners should not take a tinge of 
good breeding and civilization, from having constantly 
before one’s eyes the way in which the best bred and 
best informed men have talked and conducted them¬ 
selves, in their intercourse with each other. 

4. There is a gentle but perfectly irresistible coer¬ 
cion in a well directed habit of reading, over the whole 
tenor of a man’s character and conduct, which is not 
the less essential because it works insensibly, and be¬ 
cause it is really the last thing he dreams of. It civil¬ 
izes the conduct of men, and suffers them not to remain 
barbarous. 


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A RABBINICAL TALE.—Dr. Franklin. 

1. And it came to pass after these things, that 
Abraham sat at the door of his tent, about the going 
down of the sun. And behold ! a man bent with age, 
coming from the way of the wilderness, leaning on a 
staff. And Abraham arose, met him, and said unto 
him: “Turn in, I pray thee, and wash thy feet, and tarry 
all night, and thou shalt arise early in the morning, and 
go on thy way.” 

2. And the man said : “ Nay, for I will abide under 
this tree.” But Abraham pressed him greatly ; so he 
turned, and they went into the tent. And Abraham 
baked unleavened bread, and they did eat. And when 
Abraham saw that the man blessed not God, he said 
unto him : “ Wherefore dost thou not worship the 
most high God, Creator of heaven and earth V 9 

3. And the man answered and said: “ I worship the 
God of my fathers, in the way which they have ap¬ 
pointed.” And Abraham’s wrath was kindled against 
the man, and he arose and fell upon him, and drove 
him forth with blows into the wilderness. And God 
called unto Abraham, saying: “ Abraham, where is the 
stranger V 9 

4. And Abraham answered and said: “Lord, he 
would not worship thpe, neither would he call upon 
thy name, therefore have I driven him out before my 
face into the wilderness.” And God said: “Have I 
borne with him these hundred and ninety years, and 
nourished him, and clothed him, notwithstanding his 
rebellion against me ; and couldst not thou, who art 
thyself a sinner, bear with him one night V’ 

5. And Abraham said : “ Let not the anger of my 
Lord wax hot against his servant ; lo ! I have sinned, 
I pray thee forgive me.” And Abraham arose, and 
went forth into the wilderness, and sought diligently for 
the man, and found him, and returned w r ith him to the 
tent; and when he had treated him kindly, he sent 
him away on the morrow, with gifts. 


FOR EXERCISES, 


67 


Dr. Franklin being in company where religious intolerance was 
the subject discussed, to illustrate some remarks he had made in 
favor of toleration, took up a Bible ; and, opening at Genesis, 
read the foregoing parable, to the surprise of his hearers, who 
wondered that such a passage had escaped their notice ! There 
is no such passage or parable in the Bible, (unless it be found in 
the 51st. chapter of Genesis,) but, nevertheless, we are taught a 
good lesson in favor of religious toleration. 


EDUCATION.— Governor Seward. 

1. Oar physicians, our lawyers, our divines, our 
politicians, and even our instructors of youth, seem too 
often to suppose when they enter upon the active du¬ 
ties of their vocation, that they have acquired all the 
knowledge requisite for their discharge, and forget 
that they are at that moment only qualified for the 
higher and more elevated course of study that leads to 
success, distinction, and usefulness. 

2. Let us, then, remember for ourselves, and incul¬ 
cate upon the people, that our progress thus far has 
but led us to the vestibule of knowledge. 

3. When we see the people content in the belief 
that they know all that is known or is desirable to be 
known, let us instruct them that there is a science that 
will reveal to them the hidden and perpetual fires in 
which are continually carried on the formation and 
modification of the rocks which compose this apparently 
solid globe, and from whose elaborate changes is de¬ 
rived the sustenance of all that variety of vegetable 
life with which it is clothed. 

4. That another will disclose to them the elements 
and properties of those metals which men combine or 
shape with varied art, into the thousand implements 
and machines, by the use of which, the forest world 
has been converted into a family of kindred nations. 

5. That another solicits their attention, while she 
will bring in review before them, so that they can ex¬ 
amine with greater care and instruction than did their 
great progenitor in the primitive garden, all the races 



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of animated beings, and learn their organization, uses, 
and history. 

6. That another will classify and submit to their de¬ 
lighted examination, the entire vegetable kingdom, 
making them familiar with the virtues as well as the 
forms of every species, from the cedar of Lebanon to 
the humble flower that is crushed under their feet. 

7. That another will decompose and submit to their 
examination, the water which fertilizes the earth, and 
the invisible air they breathe ; will develope the 
sources and laws of that heat which seems to kindle all 
life into existence, and that terrific lightning which 
seems the special messenger of divine wrath to extin¬ 
guish it. 

8. Let us teach that the world of matter in which 
we live, in all its vast variety of form, is influential in 
the production, support, and happiness of our own life; 
and that it is passing strange, that with minds endowed 
with a capacity to study that influence and measurably 
direct it, we should yield uninquiringly to its action, as 
if it were capricious accident, or blind destiny. 

9. Shall we not excite some interest, when we ap¬ 
peal to the public to learn that science which teaches 
the mechanism of our own wonderfully and fearfully 
fashioned frames, and that other science which teaches 
the vastly more complicated and delicate structure of 
our immortal minds ? Who would not follow with 
delight, that science which elevates our thoughts to the 
heavens, and teaches us the magnitude, forms, distan¬ 
ces, revolutions, and laws, of the globes that fill the 
concave space above us 1 

10. And who, with thoughts thus gradually conduc¬ 
ted through the range of the material universe, would 
not receive with humility, yet with delight, the teach¬ 
ings of that spirit of divine truth which exalts us to the 
study of the character and attributes of that glorious 
and beneficent Being whose single volition called it all 
into existence 1 

11. Let us teach the people all this ; and let us show 
them, that while we sit contentedly in comparative 
ignorance, the arts are waiting to instruct us how to 


FOR EXERCISES. 


69 

reduce the weary labors of life; philosophy, how to 
avoid its errors and misfortunes ; eloquence, poetry, 
and music, to cheer its way and refine our affections ; 
and that religion is most efficient, when she combines 
and profits by all these instructions, to conduct us to 
happiness in a future state. 

12. Above all, let us inculcate that the great and 
beneficent Being who created us and this material uni¬ 
verse, has established between each of us, and every 
part of it cognizable by our minds, relations more or 
less intimate. 

13. That he has impressed not more on the' globes 
that roll through the infinitude of space, than on the 
pebble that lies beneath our feet ; not more on the 
wind and lightning, than the etherial mind of man; and 
not more on the human soul, than the dimly lighted in¬ 
stinct of the glow worm, or the insect visible only by 
microscopic aid—“ laws that determine their organiza¬ 
tion, their duration, time, place, circumstance, and 
action; that for our security, improvement, and happi¬ 
ness, he has subjected these laws to our keen investi¬ 
gation and perpetual discovery; and that vast as is the 
range of that discovery, so vast, and more extended 
than we can describe, or can yet be conceived, is 
knowledge ; and to attain all this knowledge—is 
Education.” . 

The above extract is from the Hon. William H. Seward’s Dis¬ 
course on Education, delivered at Westfield, Chautauque county, 
N. Y., July 26, 1837. Its distinguished author feels, as well as 
manifests, a deep and thrilling interest in elevating the standard 
of education. Hebelieves with the great and good men by whom 
our government was organized, that it “ cannot live but as it is 
sustained by the virtue and intelligence of the people.” Hon. 
Mr. Seward agrees in opinion with Napolean Bonaparte, that 
“the only true conquests, and those which leave no regrets, are 
those which we obtain over ignorance.” He was elected Governor 
of the State of New York in the autumn of 1838. It will be per¬ 
ceived, that his Excellency assumes the position, that, although 
we are ever learning, we are never able to learn all “ that is 
desirable to be known.” The Governor’s position is correct. 
The world is a school in which all mankind are pupils. At no 
period of our lives, can we, with propriety, say our education is 
finished. Under all the circumstances of life, we seem, as Sir 


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Jsaac Newton says, “ like children picking up a shell here and 
there on the shore of the great ocean of truth.” We are not only 
immortal, but progressive beings. 


HAMLET’S INSTRUCTION TO THE 
PLAYERS.— Shakspeare. 

1. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to 
you, trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as 
many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke 
my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your 
hand, thus : but use all gently; for, in the very torrent, 
tempest , and, as I may say, whirlwind of your pas¬ 
sion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that 
may give it smoothness. 

2. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustuous, 
periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very 
rags , to split the ears of the groundlings, who, for 
the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable 
dumb shows and noise. I would have such a fellow 
whipped for o’erdoing Termagant ; it out-Herods 
Herod. Pray you, avoid it. 

3. Be not too tame , neither, but let your own discre¬ 
tion be your tutor; suit the action to the word, the 
word to the action; with this special observance, that 
you o’erstep not the modesty of nature; for anything 
so overdone is from the purpose of playingj whose 
end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, 
as ’twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue 
her own feature; scorn, her own image; and the very 
age and body of the time, its form and pressure. 

4. Now this, overdone, or come tardy off, though it 
make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious 
grieve, the censure of which one , must, in your allow¬ 
ance, o’erweigh a whole theatre of others. 

5. O, there be players that I have seen play,—and 
heard others praise, and that highly,—not to speak it 
profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, 
nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so 



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71 


strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of 
nature’s journeymen had made men, and not made 
them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. 

Shakspeare, the' master of the heart, and the great and unri¬ 
valled delineator of human character, was born at Stratford, on 
the Avon, in 1564. It has been justly said of him, that *‘he ex¬ 
hausted worlds and then imagined new.” By the power of his 
genius, he demands and obtains our belief, even for what is sin¬ 
gular. As observed in the Encyclopaedia: “not only are his 
human characters inexhaustible, even in conception, but he opens 
the gates of the magic world, calls up the midnight ghost, exhibits 
witches, and fills the air with sportive fairies, and sylphs, and 
deformed monsters ; and although such beings exist only in ima¬ 
gination, he extorts the conviction, that if they did actually exist, 
they would conduct themselves as he represents.” Hamlet’s ad¬ 
vice to the players is very judicious, and all public speakers should 
be governed by it. 


TELL’S ADDRESS TO THE MOUNTAINS.— 

Knowles. 

1. Ye crags and peaks, I’m with you once again ! 

I hold to you the hands you first beheld, 

To show they still are free. Methinks I hear 
A spirit in your echoes answer me, 

And bid your tenant welcome to his home 
Again ! O, sacred forms, how proud you look ! 
How high you lift your heads into the sky ! 

How huge you are ! how mighty and how free ! 

2. Ye are the things that tower, that shine—whose smile 
Makesglad—whose frown is terrible—whose forms, 
Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear 

Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty! 

I’m with you once again !—I call to you 
With all my voice ! I hold my hands to you 
To show they still are free. I rush to you, 

As though I could embrace you ! 

Tell’s address is from the play of “ William Tell,” written by 



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the celebrated James Sheridan Knowles. Tell was an illustrious 
Swiss patriot. In the year 1307, he aroused his fellow citizens 
to throw off the^yoke of Austrian bondage, and to establish the 
independence of their country. The above address, being the 
language of exultation, should be given on a very high key, and 
with great animation and power. It is a favorite piece with elo¬ 
cutionists and students in oratory. 


OSSIAN’S ADDRESS TO THE SUN. 

1. O, thou that rollest above, round as the shield pf 
my fathers ! Whence are thy beams, O sun ! thy 
everlasting light 1 Thou comest forth in thy awful 
beauty; the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, 
cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. 

2. But thou, thyself, movest alone : who can be a 
companion of thy course 1 The oaks of the mountains 
fall; the mountains themselves decay with years ; 
the ocean shrinks and grows again; the moon herself 
is lost in heaven; but thou art forever the same, rejoi¬ 
cing in the brightness of thy course. 

3. When the world is dark with tempests; when thun¬ 
der rolls, and lightning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty 
from the clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to 
Ossian, thou lookest in vain; for he beholds thy beams 
no more; whether thy yellow hairs flow on the east¬ 
ern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. 

4. But thou art, perhaps, like me, for a season; thy 
years will have an end. Thou shalt sleep in the 
clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. Exult, 
then, O sun ! in the strength of thy youth ! 

5. Age is dark and unlovely; it is like the glimmering 
light of the moon, when it shines through broken clouds, 
and the mist is on the hills; the blast of the north is on the 
plain; the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey. 

Ossian, whose beautiful and sublime address to the sun is here 
inserted, was a Caledonian, and is supposed to have been the son 
of Fingal. It is presumed that he flourished in the fourth cen¬ 
tury, from which period to the present time, his writings have 



FOR EXERCISES. 


73 


commanded the admiration of the world. His effusions have 
been the delight of men highly distinguished for their talents, 
among whom may be mentioned, Napoleon Bonaparte. At the 
time Ossian made this magnificent apostrophe to the sun, he was 
blind, to which circumstance he alludes, when he says : “ For he 
beholds thy beams no more.” Homer and Milton were also 
blind when they wrote some of their best pieces. It seems, that 
in proportion as physical light was excluded from the three great 
poets, eyes of genius were planted in their minds. The sun is 
the first material object to which man ever bowed in worship. 
It both discovers and conceals the glory of its great Creator, who 
alone is entitled to our adoration. Ossian’s cotemporaries doubt¬ 
less worshipped the sun ; but it appears that he, at least, doubted 
the propriety of doing it, as he calls in question its eternity. It 
is, however, believed that Ossian paid more homage to the sun, 
than to any other object; and, therefore, his address to it maybe 
regarded as a prayer, emanating from the heart of a blind and 
aged man. Its elocution requires slow time, somewhat of a low 
key, and long quantity. It is one of the most exquisite produc¬ 
tions in our language ; and, when properly read or recited, ap¬ 
peals powerfully to the sympathetic feelings of our nature. 


RIENZFS ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS.— 

Miss Milford .. 

1. I come not here to talk. You know too well 
The story of our thraldom. We are slaves! 

The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 

A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beam 
Falls on a slave; not such as, swept along 
By the full tide of power, the conqueror led 
To crimson glory and undying fame; 

But base, ignoble slaves—slaves to a horde 
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords, 

Rich in some dozen paltry villages— 

Strong in some hundred spearmen—only great 
In that strange spell—a name. 

2. Each hour, dark fraud, 

Or open rapine, or protected murder, 

Cry out against them. But this very day, 

An honest man, my neighbor, there he stands, 

7 



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Was struck, struck like a dog, by one who wore 
The badge of Ursin; because, forsooth, 

He tossed not high his ready cap in air, 

Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, 

At sight of that great ruffain ! Be we men, 

And suffer such dishonor—men, and wash not 
The stain away in blood? Such shames are common. 
I have known deeper wrongs—I, that speak to ye, 

I had a brother once, a gracious boy, 

Full of gentleness, of calmest hope, 

Of sweet and quiet joy—there was the look 
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give 
To the beloved disciple 1 


3. How I lov’d 

That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years, 
Brother at once, and son ! He left my side, 

A summer bloom on his fair cheek,—a smile 
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour 
The pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw 
The corse, the mangled corse, and then, I cried 
For vengeance ! Rouse ye , Romans /—Rouse ye, 
slaves! £v 

Have ye brave sons ? Look in the next fierce brawl 
To see them die. Have ye fair daughters? Look 
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 
Dishonored; and if ye dare call for justice, 

Be answered by the lash. 

4. Yet this is Rome, 

That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne 
Of beauty, ruled the world ! Yet we are Romans 
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman, 

Was greater than a king ! 

And once again,— 

Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
Of either Brutus ! Once again I swear, 

The eternal city shall be free. 

The above address was written by Miss Mitford, and it is 
a most admirable piece for an elocutionary exercise. It re- 


FOR EXERCISES. 


75 


quires sudden transitions of voice; in other words, the high, low, 
and middle keys of the voice are all heard in it. The talent dis¬ 
played in the composition of the address, exhibits evidence of the 
high intellectual endowments of the writer. It shows, moreover, 
that ladies may sometimes wield as powerful a pen as men. 


BYRON’S ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. 

1. Oh ! that the desert were my dwelling place, 

With one fair spirit for my minister, 

That I might all forget the human race, 

And, hating no one, love but only her! 

Ye elements! in whose ennobling stir 
I feel myself exalted—can ye not 
Accord me such a being I Do I err 
In deeming such inhabit many a spot? 

Though, with them to converse, can rarely be our lot. 

2. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 

There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 

There is society, where none intrudes, 

By the deep sea, and music in its roar : 

I love not man the less, but nature more 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before, 

To mingle with the universe, and feel 
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal. 

3. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean—roll! 

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; 

Man marks the earth with ruin—his control 
Stops with the shore;—upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own, 

When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknell’d, uncoffin’d, and unknown. 

4. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s form 



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Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 

Calm or convulsed—in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
Icing the pole ; or in the torrid clime 
Dark-heaving;—boundless, endless, and sublime— 
The image of eternity—the throne 
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone 
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 

5. And I have lov’d thee, Ocean ! and my joy 
Of youthful sports, was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
I wantoned with thy breakers,—they to me 
Were a delight; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror—’t was a pleasing fear; 

For I was, as it were, a child of thee, 

And trusted to thy billows far and near, 

And laid my hand upon thy mane—as I do here. 

6. My task is done—my song hath ceased—my theme 
Has died into an echo; it is fit 

The spell should break of this protracted dream. 

The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit 
My midnight lamp—and what is writ, is writ,— 
Would it were worthier ! but I am not now 
That which I have been—and my visions flit 
Less palpably before me—and the glow, 

Which in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering, faint, and low. 

The above address to the ocean was written by George Gordon 
Byron, a nobleman of England, who was born at London, in January 
1788, and died at Missolonghi in Greece, in April, 1824. He was 
decidedly the greatest poet of the age in which he lived. Phre¬ 
nologists say, that he had destructiveness too prominently devel¬ 
oped. However that may be, he fell a martyr in the cause of 
freedom, while assisting the Greeks to obtain it, at the early age 
of thirty-six. His poetry is published in a large volume. His ad¬ 
dress to the ocean is from “ Childe Harold.” It should be given 
on a middle key, with slow time, and long quantity. Elocution 
requires that it be so read or recited as to call up all the internal 
feelings which animated the author at the time he wrote it, in the 
minds both of reader and hearer. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


77 


SPEECH OF HENRY V., TO HIS TROOPS. 
BEFORE THE GATES OF HARFLEUR. 

— Shakspeare. 

1. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once 

more ; 

Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 

In peace, there’s nothing so becomes a man. 

As modest stillness and humility : 

But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 

Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 

Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage : 

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; 

Let it pry through the portage of the head, 

Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o’erwhelm it, 
As fearfully as doth a galled rock 
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base, 

Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean. 

2. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; 
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
To its full height!— On, on, you noble English, 
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! 
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 

Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, 
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. 

Be copy now to men of grosser blood, 

And teach them how to war! 

3. And you good yeomen, 
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear 

That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt 
not ; 

For there is none of you so mean and base, 

That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. 

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot; 
Follow your spirit : and, upon this charge, 

Cry—God for Harry! England ! and Saint George ! 


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78 

King Henry’s speech requires a very high key and rather quick 
time. 


THE GRAVE.— Montgomery , 

1. There is a calm for those who weep, 

A rest for weary pilgrims found : 

They softly lie, and sweetly sleep, 

Low in the ground. 

2. The storm that wrecks the wintry sky 
No more disturbs their deep repose, 

Than summer evening’s latest sigh 

That shuts the rose. 

3. I long to lay this painful head 
And aching heart beneath the soil, 

To slumber in that dreamless bed, 

From all my toil; 

4. For misery stole me at my birth 
And cast me helpless on the wild : 

I perish ; O my mother earth 

Take home thy child. 

Montgomery’s Grave should be read or recited on a very low- 
key, with slow time, and long quantity. 


EXTRACT FROM DR. CALDWELL’S DISCOURSE 
ON THE GENIUS AND CHARACTER OF THE 
REV. HORACE HOLLEY. 

1. He sickened during the darkness and roar of a 
tempest as fierce as the delirium by which his great 
intellect was destined to be shattered, and which shook, 
for a time, surrounding nature with a tumult as ap¬ 
palling as the fearful convulsions amidst which he 
expired. 




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2. And he died after a short illness at sea, in the 
meridian of life, remote from medical aid, and from all 
connexions and intimate friends that might have soothed 
his sufferings and ministered to his wants, was attended 
in his sickness only by strangers, who were destitute 
alike of skill and means to afford him relief, or even 
contribute to his comfort, and his remains were com¬ 
mitted to the waves in the Gulf of Mexico. 

3. To deepen still more the sombre shades of the 
melancholy picture, all this happened at a conjuncture 
when offers were held out to him and prospects un¬ 
folded, in the highest degree flattering, and by which 
he might have become easy and affluent in fortune. 

4. And the value of such prospects can be duly ap¬ 
preciated by his acquaintance and friends; for it is 
well known to them, that, like too many others of the 
bright, but improvident sons of genius, he hud made 
no competent pecuniary provision for any of the adverse 
contingencies of life. 

5. The rolling surf, as it breaks over the reef near 
which he was deposited, resounds to him a deep and 
solemn requiem, which will never cease to salute the 
ear of the passing mariner, while the winds shall con¬ 
tinue to waft him, and the ocean be his home. 

6. And amidst the roar of the mighty waters, his 
repose will be as peaceful, as if he slept under fretted 
marble, or the grassy sod, silently wept on by the 
dews of evening, and soothed by the vespers of the 
softened breeze. Let us fancy to ourselves, a choir of 
the fairest and most exquisite vocalists of the ocean, 
chanting to their favorite the following elegy : 

7. Farewell! be it ours to embellish thy pillow 

With every thing beauteous that grows in the deep; 

Each flower of the rock, and each gem of the billow, 

Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. 

8. Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber 

That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept; 

With many a shell,in whose hollow-wreath’d chamber, 

We, daughters of ocean, by moonlight have slept. 


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9. We’ll dive where the gardens of coral lie dark¬ 

ling, 

And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head ; 

We’ll seek where the sands are most precious and 
sparkling, 

And gather their dust to strew over thy head. 

10. Farewell! farewell! until pity’s emotion 

Is extinct in the hearts of the fair and the brave, 
They’ll weep for their favorite who died on this 
ocean, 

The stranger who peacefully sleeps in this wave. 


The Rev. Horace Holley, LL. D., was President of Transyl¬ 
vania University, at Lexington, in the State of Kentucky, for 
nine years } during- which period, the institution greatly flourished. 
In the year 1827, Dr. Holley, in consequence of persecution and 
a vituperative attack from the Governor of that State, resigned 
the Presidency of the University. He now formed the idea of 
taking an excursion to Europe, for the benefit of such young men 
as were disposed, and could afford, to accompany him. This 
plan, he knew, would, if carried into effect, give his pupils an op¬ 
portunity to acquire much more practical knowledge than they 
could obtain at home, or from books. The excursion, too, would 
tend to enlarge their views and liberalize their minds. The sys¬ 
tem, for its completion, was to include from six to eight years. 
But the friends of education at New Orleans, persuaded Dr. Holley 
to abandon his proposed European excursion, and to agree to take 
charge of a literary institution which they were desirous to esta¬ 
blish in their city. Owing to the oppressive heat of the climate 
of New Orleans, in July, he measurably lost his health. Under 
the impression that the sea air would restore it, he took a ship to 
go to NewYork. While on his way to that city, a storm occurred 
which occasioned sea-sickness with the passengers generally, and, 
with Dr. Holley, a disease of which he died. His winding sheet 
was his cloak, and his grave the ocean. He was a brother of 
Myron and O. L. Holley. Charles Caldwell, M. D., Professor of 
Medicine in the Transylvania University, prepared and delivered, 
at the chapel, a most excellent discourse on the genius and 
character of Dr. Holley, from the concluding part of which, the 
above extract is taken. It should be read or recited deliberately, 
and with considerable quantity. The key, for the prose, should 
not be very high nor low. The poetry with which it is concluded, 
requires rather a low key. It is a piece of deep pathos ; and, if 
its elocution be such as it demands, it cannot fail to excite a thril¬ 
ling interest in the mind of the hearer. 


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SATAN’S SUPPOSED SPEECH TO HIS LEGIONS, 
ON THE OBLIVIOUS POOL.— Milton. 

1. Princes, Potentates, 

Warriors, the flower of Heaven! once yours, now lost, 
If such astonishment as this can seize 

Eternal spirits ; or have ye chosen this place, 

After the toil of battle, to repose 

Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find 

To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven 1 

2. Or in this abject posture have ye sworn 
To adore the Ccnquerer ! who now beholds 
Cherub and seraph rolling in the flood, 

With scatter’d arms and ensigns ; till anon 
His swift pursuers from Heaven’s gates discern 
The advantage, and descending, tread us down 
Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts 
Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf'? 

Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen ! 

John Milton was born at London, in the year 1G08. His 
“ Paradise Lost” is written with great ability. It displays almost 
infinite power of imagination. When Milton wrote it, he doubt¬ 
less, “felt the enchantment of oriental fiction.” The idea of 
writing it, was probably suggested to the mind of its author, by 
his reading Homer, whose account of the Trojan war somewhat 
resembles the description contained in Milton’s work of a war in 
heaven. Be that as it may, Milton justly ranks high as a poet. 
The above speech which he imagines to have been made, requires 
a high key, and quick time. 


MILTON’S APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT. 

1. Hail, holy light, offspring of Heaven first-born, 

Or of the Eternal co-eternal beam, 

May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light, 
And never but in unapproached light 



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Dwelt from eternity ; dwelt then in thee, 

Bright effluence of bright essence increate! 

2. Or hear’st thou rather, pure ethereal stream, 
Whose fountain who shall tell! Before the sun, 
Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice 
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 

The rising world of waters dark and deep, 

Won from the void and formless infinite. 

3. Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, 

Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detain’d 
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight 
Through utter and through middle darkness borne, 
With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, 

1 sung of Chaos and eternal Night. 

4. Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down 
The dark descent, and up to reascend, 

Though hard and rare : thee I revisit safe, 

And feel thy sovreign vital lamp ; but thou 
Revisit’st not these eyes, that roll in vain 

To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn : 

So thick a drop serene hath quench’d their orbs, 
Or dim suffusion veil’d. 


Yet not the more, 

Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt 
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 

Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief 
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 
That wash thy hallow’d feet, and warbling flow, 
Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget 
Those other two equal’d with me in fate, 

So were I equal’d with them in renown ! 

Blind Thamyris, and blind Mseonides ; 

And Tiresias, and Phineas, prophets old : 

Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move 
Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful bird 
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid, 

Tunes her nocturnal note. 


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83 


0. Thus with the year 

Seasons return ; but not to me returns 
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, 

Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer’s rose, 

Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; 

But cloud instead, and ever-during dark 
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men 
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair, 
Presented with a universal blank 
Of nature’s works, to me expunged and razed, 

And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. 

So much the rather thou, celestial Bight, 

Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 
Irradiate ; there plant eyes, all mist from thence 
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell 
Of things invisible to mortal sight. 

The above poetic address, in which Milton laments the loss of 
his sight, is one of his happiest efforts. As he was blind at the 
time he wrote it, wisdom was 

--“ at one entrance quite shut out.” 

The deprivation of his sight, seems to have given him additional 
vigor of intellect: 

u He lisped in numbers, for the numbers came.” 

It has been well said of him, that when “ he closed his eyes on 
earth, he opened them on heaven.” The above apostrophe to 
light, requires a low kej/, rather slow time, and long quantity. 


SPEECH OF LORD CHANCELLOR THURLOW, 
IN REPLY TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON. 

1. My Lords : —I am amazed at the attack the no¬ 
ble duke has made upon me. Yes, my lords, I am 
amazed at his grace’s speech. The noble duke cannot 
look before him, behind him, or on either side of him; 
without seeing some noble peer who owes his seat in 




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this house, to his successful exertions in the profession 
to which I belong. 

2. Does he not feel that it is as honorable to owe 
it to these, as to being the accident of an accident ? 
To all these noble lords, the language of the no¬ 
ble duke is as applicable and as insulting as it is to 
myself. But I do not fear to meet it single and 
alone. No one venerates the peerage more than I do; 
but, my lords, I must say, that the peerage solicited 
me,—not I the peerage. 

3. Nay more ; 1 can and will say, that as a peer of 
parliament, as speaker of this right honorable house, as 
keeper of the great seal, as guardian of his majesty’s 
conscience, as lord High Chancellor of England, nay, 
even in that character alone in which the noble duke 
would think it an affront to be considered,—as a man, 
I am at this moment as respectable, I beg leave to 
add, as much respected, as the proudest peer I now 
look down upon. 


The duke had, in the “ House of Lords,” reproached Lord 
Thurlow with his plebian extraction, and his recent admission to 
the peerage. Lord Thurlow rose from the woolsack ; and, fixing 
on the duke the look of Jove when he grasps the thunder, he spoke 
as above; and the effect of his speech was so great, that it gave 
him an ascendency both within the walls of the house and cut of 
ihem, which no other chancellor ever possessed. It should be 
given with great and increasing energy. 


ST. PAUL'S DEFENCE BEFORE AGRIPPA.— 

Acts, xxvi. 

1. Then Agrippa said unto Paul : “ Thou art per¬ 
mitted to speak for thyself.” Then Paul stretched forth 
his hand, and answered for himself. 

2. “ I think myself happy, king Agrippa, because I 
shall answer for myself this day before thee, touching 
all the things whereof I am accused by the Jews ; es¬ 
pecially because I know thee to be expert in all customs 



FOR EXERCISES. 85 

and questions which are among the Jews ; wherefore 
I beseech thee to hear me patiently. 

3. “ My manner of life from my youth, which was 
at the first among mine own nation at Jerusalem, know 
all the Jews,who knew me from the beginning, (if they 
would testify,) that after the most straitest sect of our 
religion, I lived a Pharisee. 

4. “ And now I stand and am judged, for the hope 
of the promise made of God unto our fathers : unto 
which promise our twelve tribes instantly serving God 
day and night, hope to come. For which hope’s sake, 
king Agrippa, I am accused by the Jews. 

5. “ Why should it be thought a thing incredible 
with you, that God should raise the dead 1 I verily 
thought with myself, that I ought to do many things 
contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth. 

6. “ Which thing I also did in Jerusalem; and many 
of the saints did I shut up in prison, having receivec 
authority from the chief priests ; and when they were 
put to death, I gave my voice against them. 

7. “ And I punished them oft in every synagogue, 
and compelled them to blaspheme ; and being exceed¬ 
ingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto 
strange cities. 

8. “ Whereupon, as I went to Damascus with au¬ 
thority and commission from the chief priests, at mid¬ 
day, O king, I saw in the way a light from heaven, 
above the brightness of the sun, shining round about 
me, and those who journeyed with me. 

9. “ And when we were all fallen to the earth, I 
heard a voice speaking unto me, and saying in the 
Hebrew tongue, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me 1 
And I said, Who art thou, Lord ? And he said, I am 
Jesus, whom thou persecutest. 

10. “ But rise, and stand upon thy feet, for I have 
appeared unto thee for this purpose, to make thee a 
minister and a witness both of these things which thou 
hast seen, and of those things in the which I will appear 
unto thee ; delivering thee from the people,-and from 
the Gentiles, unto whom now I send thee, to open their 
eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and 


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from the power of Satan unto God ; that they may 
receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among 
them which are sanctified, by faith that is in me. 

11. “Whereupon, O king Agrippa, 1 was not diso¬ 
bedient unto the heavenly vision ; but showed first unto 
them at Damascus, and at Jerusalem, and throughout 
all the coasts of Judea, and then to the Gentiles, that 
they should repent and turn to God, and do works meet 
for repentance. 

12. “ For these causes the Jews caught me in the 
temple, and went about to kill me. Having, therefore, 
obtained help of God, I continue unto this day, wit¬ 
nessing both to small and great, saying none other 
things than those which the prophets and Moses did 
say should come, that Christ should suffer, and that he 
should be the first that should rise from the dead, and 
should show light unto the people, and to the Gentiles.” 

13. And as he thus spake for himself, Festus said 
with a loud voice : “ Paul, thou art beside thyself; 
much learning doth make thee mad.*’ 

14. But he said : “ I am not mad, most noble Fes¬ 
tus ; but speak forth the words of truth and soberness. 
For the king knoweth of these things, before whom 
also I speak freely ; for I am persuaded that none of 
these things are hidden from him ; for this thing was 
not done in a corner. 

15. “ King Agrippa, belie vest thou the prophets ? I 
know that thou believest.” Then Agrippa said unto 
Paul: “ Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.” 
And Paul said: “ I would to God, that not only thou, but 
also all that hear me this day, were both almost, and 
altogether such as I am, except these bonds.” 

16. And when he had thus spoken, the king rose up, 
and the governor and Bernice, and they that sat with 
them. And when they were gone aside, they talked 
between themselves, saying: “ This man doeth nothing 
worthy of death, or of bonds.” Then said Agrippa unto 
Festus: “ This man might have been set at libertv, if he 
had not appealed unto Ceesar.” 


St. Paul’s defence breathes a spirit of true and genuine elo- 


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87 


quence. It is unostentatious and sublime. It is characterised by 
sincerity and earnestness. To say that he was a greater man than 
Hannibal, Caesar, Alexander, Bonaparte, or even Sir Isaac New¬ 
ton, or our beloved Washington himself, is not enough. He was 
inferior only to Jesus Christ. The character of St. Paul and of 
his defence, is eloquently portrayed in the following poetry: 

“ With illustration simple, yet profound, and with unfaltering 
zeal, 

He spake from a warm heart, and made e’en cold hearts feel ; 
And this is eloquence. ’Tis the intense, 

Impassioned fervor of a mind deep fraught 
With native energy when soul and sense 
Burst forth, embodied in the burning thought; 

When look, emotion, tone, are all combined, 

When the whole man was eloquent with mind; 

A power that comes not to the call or quest. 

But from the gifted soul and the deep feeling breast.” 

St. Paul’s defence, being highly rhetorical, should be read or re¬ 
cited, not only grammatically or correctly, but with all the pathos, 
power, and polished graces of elocution. It requires a middle 
key, a combination of quantity and emphasis, and an earnest and 
animated manner. 

St. Paul was greatly distinguished for frankness. In 2 Corin¬ 
thians, xii. 16., he says: “ But be it so, I did not burden you : 
nevertheless, being crafty, I caught you with guile.” That is, 
although you admit that I preached the gospel freely, you, (my op- 
posers at Corinth,) nevertheless, say, that I am crafty and practice 
guile. In verse 17, he says : “ Did I make gain of you?” Pro¬ 
duce the proof, if in your power. He was also accused of “ doing 
evil that good might come to which charge he answered: “God 
forbid !” Some persons suppose that he acknowledges himself to 
be crafty and guileful, and, therefore, have concluded that it is 
right to use management and deceit to promote a religious pur¬ 
pose. They err cgregiously. The truth is, St. Paul’s aim was 
to do good by proper means. If the reader is not perfectly satis¬ 
fied that the passage, as it stands in the context, implies, as 
Bloomfield says, “ a possible charge, that his not taking a stipend 
of his hearers was but a piece of refined policy, to obtain the same 
purpose more effectually by another,” he is referred to Scott and 
Clarke. The passage in question should be so read as to convey 
its true meaning. 


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EXTRACT FROM A SUPPOSED SPEECH OF 
JOHN ADAMS,IN SUPPORT OF AMERICAN 
INDEPENDENCE.— D. Webster . 

1. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I 
give my hand and my heart to this vote. It is true, 
indeed, that in the beginning, we aimed not at indepen¬ 
dence. But there’s a Divinity which shapes our ends. 
The injustice of England has driven us to arms ; and, 
blinded to her own interest, for our good, she has ob¬ 
stinately persisted, till independence is now within our 
grasp. 

2. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. 
Why, then, should we defer the declaration 1 Is any 
man so weak as now to hope for a reconciliation with 
England ? Do we mean to submit to the measures of 
parliament, Boston port-bill and all ? I know we do 
not mean to submit. We never shall submit. 

3. The war, then, must go on. We must fight it 
hrough. And if the war must go on, why put off 

monger the declaration of independence? That mea¬ 
sure will strengthen us. It will give us character 
abroad. The nations will then treat with us, which 
they never can do, while we acknowledge ourselves 
subjects, in arms against our sovereign. Nay, I main¬ 
tain that England herself, will sooner treat for peace 
with us, on the footing of independence, than consent, 
by repealing her acts, to acknowledge that her whole 
conduct towards us, has been a course of injustice and 
oppression. 

4. Sir, the declaration will inspire the people with 
increased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war for 
restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for 
chartered immunities held under a British king,—set 
before them the glorious object of entire independence, 
and it will breathe into them anew the breath of life. 

5. Read this declaration at the head of the army ; 
every sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the 
solemn vow uttered to maintain it, or to perish on the 


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bed of honor. Publish it from the pulpit; religion 
will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will 
cling round it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. 

6. Send it to the public halls ; proclaim it there; let 
them hear it, who heard the first roar of the enemy’s 
cannon ; let them see it, who saw their brothers 
and their sons fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in 
the streets of Lexington and Concord,—and the very 
walls will cry out in its support. 

7. Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. 
My judgment approves this measure, and my whole 
heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and 
all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready here to 
stake upon it ; and I leave off as I began, that, live or 
die, survive or perish, I am for the declaration. It is 
my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it 
shall be my dying sentiment ;—independence now , and 
independence forever . 

It is sometimes supposed that John Adams actually made the 
above speech. It contains sentiments which he cherished; but 
Daniel Webster is the author of the speech itself. In his discourse 
on Adams and Jefferson, he imagines Mr. Adams to have thus 
spoken in favor of the immediate adoption of the declaration of 
independence. It is a masterly production, and it should be read 
or recited on a pretty high key, with rather quick time, and with 
great and increasing animation and power. Emphasis and quan¬ 
tity should be combined in its elocution. Mr. Adams was such a 
warm friend to liberty, that he could, at all times, say: 

“ Thy spirit, independence, let me share; 

Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye, 

Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, 

Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.” 

Mr. Adams wrote the following letter the day after the declara¬ 
tion was adopted. It is worthy of profound attention. 

“Philadelphia, July 5th, 1776. 

« S IR _Yesterday the greatest question was decided which was 

ever debated in America ; and greater, perhaps, never was or will 
be decided among men. A resolution was passed, without one 
dissenting colony, that these United States are, and of right ought 
to be, free and independent States. 

“ The day is passed. The 4th of July, 1776, will be a memor¬ 
able epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it 
8 * 


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will bo celebrated by succeeding generations, as the great Ameri¬ 
can Festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliver¬ 
ance, by solemn acts of devotion to Almighty God. It ought to be 
solemnized with pomp, shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, 
and illuminations, from one end of t he continent to the other, from 
this time forward forever. You will think me transported with 
enthusiasm, but I am not. I am well aware-of the toil, and blood, 
and treasure, that it will cost to maintain this declaration, and 
support and defend these States, yet through all the gloom, I can 
see the rays of light and glory—I can see that the end is worth 
more than all the means, and that posterity will triumph, although 
you and I may rue, which 1 hope we shall not. 

“I am, &c. JOHN ADAMS.” 


A DESCRIPTION OF THE PERSON OF JESUS 
CHRIST, 

AS IT WAS FOUND IN AN ANCIENT IMANUSCRIPT SENT BY 
PUBLIUS LENTULUS, PRESIDENT OF JUDEA, TO THE 
SENATE OF ROME. 

1. There lives at this time in Judea, a man of singu¬ 
lar character, whose name is Jesus Christ. The bar¬ 
barians esteem him as a prophet; but his followers 
adore him as the immediate offspring of the immortal 
God. He is endowed with such unparalleled virtue as 
to call back the dead from their graves, and to heal 
every kind of disease with a word or a touch. 

2. His person is tall and elegantly shaped; his aspect 
amiable and reverend ; his hair flows in those beaute¬ 
ous shades which no united colors can match, falling 
in graceful curls below his ears, agreeably couching on 
his shoulders, and parting on the crown of his head ; 
his dress of the sect of Nazarites ; his forehead is 
smooth and large ; his cheek without either spot, save 
that of lovely red ; his nose and mouth are formed 
with exquisite symmetry ; his beard is thick and suit¬ 
able to the hair of his head, reaching a little below his 
chin and parting in the middle like a fork ; his eves 
are bright, clear, and serene. 



FOR EXERCISES, 


91 


3. He rebukes with mildness, and invites with the 
most tender and persuasive language—his whole ad¬ 
dress, whether word or deed, being elegant, grave, and 
strictly characteristic of so exalted a being. No man 
has seen him laugh, but the whole world beholds him 
weep frequently; and so persuasive are his tears, that 
the whole multitude cannot withhold their tears from 
joining in sympathy with him. He is very modest, 
temperate, and wise, in short, whatever this phenome¬ 
non may turn out in the end, he seems, at present, to 
be a man of excellent beauty, and divine perfections, 
every way surpassing the children of men. 

The above description of the person of our Saviour, is said to 
have been transcribed at London, in 1732, from an ancient copy 
of Josephus. 


THE BLIND PREACHER.— Wirt. 

1. One Sunday, as I travelled through the county of 
Orange, my eye was caught by a cluster of horses tied 
near a ruinous, old, wooden house, in the forest, not 
far from the road-side. Having frequently seen such 
objects before, in travelling through these States, I 
had no difficulty in understanding that this was a plaee 
of religious worship. Devotion, alone, should have 
stopped me, to join in the duties of the congregation ; 
but I must confess, that curiosity to hear the preacher 
of such a wilderness, was not the least of my motives. 

2. On entering the house, I w r as struck with his 
preternatural appearance. He was a tall and very 
spare old man,—his head, which was covered with a 
white linen cap, his shrivelled hands, and his voice, 
were all shaken under the influence of a palsy, and a 
few moments convinced me that he was blind. The 
first emotions which touched my breast, were those of 
mingled pity and veneration. But ah ! how soon were 
all my feelings changed ! 



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3. It was a day of the administration of the sacra¬ 
ment, and his subject, of course, was the passion of our 
Saviour. I had heard the subject handled a thousand 
times ; I had thought it exhausted long ago. Little 
did I suppose, that in the wild woods of America, I 
was to meet with a man whose eloquence would give 
to this topic, a new and more sublime pathos than I 
had ever before witnessed. 

4. As he descended from the pulpit, to distribute the 
mystic symbol, there was a peculiar, a more than hu¬ 
man solemnity in his air and manner, which made my 
blood run cold, and my whole frame to shiver. He 
then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Saviour— 
his trial before Pilate—his ascent up Calvary—his 
crucifixion—and his death. 

5. I knew the whole history ; but never, until then, 
had I heard the circumstances so selected, so arranged, 
so colored! It was all new ; and I seemed to have 
heard it for the first time in my life. His enunciation was 
so deliberate, that his voice trembled on every syllable; 
and every heart in the assembly trembled in unison. 

6. His peculiar phrases had that force of description, 
that the original scene appeared to be, at that moment, 
acting before our eyes. We saw the very faces of 
the Jews—the staring, frightful distortions of malice 
and rage. We saw the buffet,—my soul kindled with 
a flame of indignation, and my hands were involunta¬ 
rily and convulsively clenched. 

7. But when he came to touch the patience, the for¬ 
giving meekness of our Savior—when he drew, to the 
life, his blessed eyes streaming in tears to heaven— his 
voice breathing to God, a soft and gentle prayer of 
pardon on his enemies: 11 Father, forgive them, for 
they know not what they do,”—the voice of the 
preacher, which' had all along faltered, grew fainter 
and fainter, until his utterance being entirely obstruc¬ 
ted by the force of his feelings, he raised his handker¬ 
chief to his eyes, and burst into a loud and irrepressible 
flood of grief. The effect was inconceivable. The 
whole house resounded with the mingled groans, and 
sobs, and shrieks of the congregation. 


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8. It was sometime before the tumult had subsided, 
so far as to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging 
bv the usual, but fallacious standard of my own weak¬ 
ness, I began to be very uneasy for the situation of the 
preacher. 

9. For I could not conceive how he would be able 
to let his audience down from the height to which he 
had wound them, without impairing the solemnity and 
dignity of his subject, or, perhaps, shocking them by 
the abruptness of the fall. But the descent was as 
beautiful and sublime, as the elevation had been rapid 
and enthusiastic. 

10. The first sentence with which he broke the aw¬ 
ful silence, was a quotation from Rousseau: “ Socrates 
died like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ like a God ! 1” 
Never before did I completely understand what Demos¬ 
thenes meant by laying such stress on delivery. 


The “Blind Preacher” is from the “British Spy,” of which the 
late honorable and lamented William Wirt, of Baltimore, is the 
author. Rousseau, mentioned in the tenth verse, was a celebrated 
Swiss philosopher born in Geneva, A. D. 1711. The “Blind 
Preacher” is one of the most pathetic and beautiful pieces of a 
descriptive character in our language. It should be read collo¬ 
quially, and in an animated manner, on a middle key. 


DAVID’S LAMENTATION OVER SAUL AND 
JONATHAN.—2 Samuel i. 

1. The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places: 
how are the mighty fallen ! Tell it not in Gath, pub¬ 
lish it not in the streets of Askelon ; lest the daughters 
of the Philistines rejoice, lest the daughters of the un¬ 
circumcised triumph. 

2. Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew, 
neither let there be rain upon you, nor fields of offer¬ 
ings; for there the shield of the mighty is vilely cast 
away, the shield of Saul, as though he had not been 
anointed with oil. 



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3. From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the 
mighty, the bow of Jonathan turned not back, and the 
sword of Saul returned not empty. Saul and Jonathan 
were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their 
death they were not divided: they were swifter than 
eagles, they were stronger than lions. 

4. Ye daughters of Israel, weep over Saul, who 
clothed you in scarlet, with other delights; who put 
on ornaments of gold upon your apparel. How are 
the mighty fallen in the midst of battle ! 

5. O Jonathan, thou wast slain in thy high places. 
I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan : very 
pleasant hast thou been unto me : thy love to me was 
wonderful, passing the love of women. How are the 
mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished l 

David’s lamentation is the language of deep emotion and sor¬ 
row. It requires to be given with slow time, long quantity, and 
on a middle key. 


OTHELLO’S APOLOGY FOR HIS MARRIAGE. 

— Shakspeare. 

1. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, 

My very noble and approved good masters, 

That I have ta’en away this old man’s daughter, 

It is most true ; true, I have married her ; 

The very head and front of my offending 
Hath this extent, no more. 

2. Rude am I in my speech, 
And little bless’d with the set phrase of peace ; 

For since these arms of mine had seven years’ pith, 
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us’d 
Their dearest action in the tented field ; 

And little of this great world can I speak, 

More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; 

And therefore little shall I grace my cause, 



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In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious pa¬ 
tience, 

I will a round unvarnish’d tale deliver 
Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what 
charms, 

What conjuration and what mighty magic, 

(For such proceeding I’m charg’d withal,) 

I won his daughter with. 

3. Her father lov’d me ; oft invited me ; 

Still question’d me the story of my life, 

From year to year ; the battles, seiges, fortunes, 
That I have pass’d. 

I ran it through, even from my boyish days, 

To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, 

Of moving accidents, by flood, and field ; 

Of hair-breadth ’scapes in the imminent deadly 
breach ; 

Of being taken by the insolent foe, 

And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, 

And with it all my travel’s history. 

4. These things to hear, 

Would Desdemona seriously incline : 

But still the house affairs would draw her thence ; 
Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 

She’d come again, and with a greedy ear 
Devour up my discourse : which I observing, 

Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means 
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 

That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 

Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 

But not attentively. 

5. I did consent; 

And often did beguile her of her tears, 

When I did speak of some distressful stroke, 

That my youth suffer’d. My story being done, 

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 

She swore,—In faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing- 
strange ; 


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96 

’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful : 

She wish’d she had not heard it; yet she wish’d 
That heaven had made her such a man. 

6 She thank’d me; 

And bade me, if I had a friend that lov’d her, 

I should teach him how to tell my story, 

And that would woo her. On this hint, I spake : 
She lov’d me for the dangers I had pass’d ; 

And I lov’d her, that she did pity them. 

This onlv is the witchcraft I have us’d. 


The reader is referred to my observations relating to Othello in 
the chapter on emphatic pause. The apology is one of Shak- 
speare’s best efforts. Othello was charged by Brabantio, Desde- 
mona’s father, with having “ enchanted her,” with “ drugs,” as 
“ a practiser of arts inhibited and out of warrant.” Upon that 
charge, he was apprehended and brought before th£duke and sen¬ 
ators 0 . The duke inquired of Othello what, on his part, he could 
say to the charge ; and the apology above given, was his answer. 
It should be read or recited in a pleasant and yet animated man¬ 
ner. That part of it in which he narrates the scenes through 
which he had passed, requires rather a hurried rate of utterance. 
Where he says : “ Little of this great world can I boast,” it is 
better to make a gentle gesture with the right arm, than to extend 
both. 


CATO’S SOLILOQUY ON THE IMMORTALITY 
OF THE SOUL.— Addison. 


I. It must be so.—Plato, thou reasonest well! 

Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire. 
This longing after immortality 1 
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 
Of falling into nought I Why shrinks the soul 
Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 

’T is the divinity that stirs within us: 

’Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter, 
And intimates eternity to man. 





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2. Eternity !—thou pleasing, dreadful thought! 

Through what variety of untried being, 

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass! 

The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me: 

Here will I hold. If there’s a power above us, 

And that there is, all nature cries aloud 

Through all her works, he must delight in virtue; 

And that which he delights in, must be happy. 

But when ? or where 1 This world w r as made for 
Ctesar. 

I’m weary of conjectures—this must end them. 

3. Thus I am doubly arm’d. My death and life, 

My bane and antidote, are both before me. 

This, in a moment, brings me to my end; 

But this informs me I shall never die. 

The soul, secur’d in her existence, smiles 

At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 

The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 

Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years; 

But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth; 

Unhurt amidst the war of elements, 

The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. 

Marcus Portius Cato, a distinguished Roman philosopher, 
general, and patriot, was born 94 years before Christ. After the 
battle of Pharsalia, he fled to Utica, in Africa"; and, retiring to 
his apartment, read Plato on the Immortality of the Soul, twice 
over, and then, rather than fall into the hands of Julius Caesar, 
by whom he was pursued, stabbed himself with his sword, and 
died at the age of 48. He thought, moreover, that the toils of 
life would be succeeded by a happy immortality. He ought not, 
however, to have committed suicide. Socrates was accustomed 
to say, £ ‘ That God has put us in this life, as in a post which we 
cannot quit without his leave.” If an individual knew that death 
would be more agreeable than life, or that somebody else would 
take his life, unless he did it himself, even then suicide would not 
be justifiable. Cato certainly found nothing in Plato’s writings in 
favor of it. He only found the glorious doctrine of the immortality 
of the soul maintained, by arguments w hich carried conviction of 
its truth to his mind. The “ Soliloquy” is from the excellent Ad¬ 
dison’s “ Tragedy of Cato.” It should be given deliberately ; the 
countenance and voice should indicate that the mind is employed 
in solemn contemplation. 

9 


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IMAGINARY MEETING OF SATAN, SIN, AND 
DEATH.— Milton. 

1. Meanwhile the adversary of God and man, 

Satan, with thoughts inflamed of highest design, 
Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of hell, 
Explores his solitary flight: sometimes 

He scours the right hand coast, sometimes the left; 
Now shaves with level wing the deep, then soars 
Up to the fiery concave towering high. 

2. As when far off’at sea, a fleet descried, 

Hangs on the cloud, by equinoctial winds 
Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles 

Of Ternate and Tidore, whence merchants bring 
Their spicy drugs ; they, on the trading flood, 
Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape, 

Ply stemming nightly toward the pole : so seem’d 
Far off the flying fiend. 

3. At last appear 
Hell bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof, 

And thrice three-fold the gates ; three folds -were 
brass, 

Three iron, three of adamantine rock 
Impenetrable, impaled with circling fire, 

Yet unconsumed. 


4. Before the gates there sat, 

On either side, a formidable shape: 

The one seem’d woman to the waist, and fair; 
But ended foul in many a scaly fold 
Voluminous and vast; a serpent arm’d 
With mortal sting: about her middle round, 

A cry of hell-hounds never ceasing bark’d, 

With wide Cerberian mouths full loud, and rung 
A hideous peal. 


5. Far less abhorr’d than these, 

Vex’d Scylla, bathing in the sea that parts 


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Calabria from the hoarse Trinacrian shore; 

Nor uglier follow the night hag, when, call’d 
In secret, riding through the air she comes, 

Lured with the smell of infant blood, to dance 
With Lapland witches, while the laboring moon 
Eclipses at their charms. 

6. The other shape, 

If shape it might be call’d that shape had none 
Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb; 

Or substance might be call’d that shadow seem’d, 
For each seem’d either; black it stood as night, 
Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, 

And shook a dreadful dart; what seem’d his head, 
The likeness of a kingly crown had on. 

7. Satan was now at hand, and from his seat 
The monster moving onward, came as fast 
With horrid strides; hell trembled as he strode. 

The undaunted fiend what this might be, admired; 
Admired, not feared; God and his Son except, 
Created thing nought valued he, nor shunn’d; 

And with disdainful look thus first began: 

8. “ Whence and what art thou, execrable shape ! 
That dar’st, though grim and terrible, advance 
Thy miscreated front athwart my way 

To yonder gates 1 through them I mean to pass, 
That be assured, without leave ask’d of thee: 

Retire or taste thy folly; and learn by proof, 
Hell-born ! not to contend with spirits of heaven.” 

9. To whom the goblin, full of wrath, replied: 

“ Art'thou that traitor-angel, art thou he 

Who first broke peace in heaven, and faith, till then 
Unbroken; and in proud rebellious arms 
Drew after him the third part of heaven’s sons 
Conjured against the Highest; for which both thou 
And they, out-cast from God, are here condemn’d 
To waste eternal days in woe and pain ? 

10. And reckon’st thou thyself with spirits of heaven, 


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Hell-doom’d! and breath’st defiance here and scorn, 
Where I reign king; and, to enrage thee more, 

Thy king ancf lord l Back to thy punishment, 

False fugitive ! and to thy speed add wings; 

Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 

Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart 

Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before/ 

II. So spake the grisly terror, and in shape 
So speaking and so threatening, grew ten-fold 
More dreadful and deform. On the other side, 
Incensed with indignation, Satan stood 
Unterrified; and like a comet burn’d, 

That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge 
In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
Shakes pestilence and war. 

18 . Each at the head 

Level’d his deadly aim; their fatal hands 
No second stroke intend; and such a frown 
Each cast at th’ other, as when two black clouds, 
With heaven’s artillery fraught, come rattling on 
Over the Caspian; then stand front to front, 
Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow 
To join their dark encounter in mid air: 

13 . So frown’d the mighty combatants that hell 
Grew darker at their frown: so match’d they stood; 
For never but once more was either like 
To meet so great a foe. And now great deeds 
Had been achieved, whereof all hell had rung, 

Had not the snaky sorceress that sat 
Fast by hell-gate, and kept the fatal key, 

Risen, and with hideous outcry rush’d between. 

In the above extract from “ Paradise Lost,” Milton imagines 
Satan, Sin, and Death (each of which he personifies) to have met 
at the gate of hell. It is written with great power, and is well 
suited to the cultivation of what elocutionists call a top to the 
voice. In reading or reciting it, an individual should raise his 
voice to the highest note in his power, especially from the line, 
\\ hence and what art thou,” to the one, the language of which 
is, “ Strange horrors sieze thee,” &c. The rate of utterance 


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should be rather rapid, and yet not so much so as to prevent tho 
reader or declaimer from articulating every word correctly, and 
with distinctness and freedom. 


ADAM AND EVE’S MORNING HYMN.— Milton. 

1. These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, 
Almighty ! thine this universal frame, 

Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then ! 
Unspeakable, who sitt’st above these heavens, 

To us invisible, or dimly seen 

In these thy lowest works; yet these declare 

Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. 

2. Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, 
Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs 
And choral symphonies, day without night, 

Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heaven, 

On earth, join, all ye creatures, to extol 

Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end. 
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, 

If better thou belong not to the dawn, 

Sure pledge of day, that crown’st the smiling morn 
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, 
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. 

Thou sun ! of this great world both eye and soul, 
Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise 
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb’st, 

And when high noon hast gain’d, and when thou 
fall’st. 

3. Moon, that now meet’st the orient sun, now Hiest 
With the fix’d stars, fix’d in their orb that flies; 

And ye five other wandering fires, that move 

In mystic dance, not without song, resound 
His praise, who out of darkness call’d up light. 

Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth 
Of nature’s womb, that in quaternion run 
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix 
9* 



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And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change 
Vary to our great Maker still new praise. 

4 , Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise 
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, 

Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, 

In honor to the world’s great Author,—rise, 
Whether to deck with clouds th’ uncolor’d sky, 

Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers; 
Rising or falling, still advance his praise. 

5 . His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, 
Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines, 
With every plant, in sign of worship wave. 
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow. 
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. 

Join voices, all ye living souls. Ye birds, 

That singing up to heaven’s gate ascend, 

Bear on your wings, and in your notes, his praise, 

(j. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk 
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep; 
Witness if I be silent, morn or even, 

To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, 

Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise 
Hail universal Lord! be bounteous still, 

To give us only good; and if the night 
Have gather’d aught of evil, or conceal’d. 

Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark. 

The hymn which the great poet attributes to Adam and Eve, 
and in which he personifies various inanimate objects, and caiJs up¬ 
on them to “join voices” in praise of the Supreme Being, is most, 
admirably written. Whoever reads this sublime piece of poetry, 
cannot otherwise than have strongly impressed upon his attention, 
the beauty and grandeur, both in thought and composition, with 
which it abounds. Its elocution requires a middle key, slow- 
time, and long quantity. 


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SPEECH OF CASSIUS, INSTIGATING BRUTUS 
TO JOIN THE CONSPIRACY AGAINST 
CiESAR. — Shakspeare. 

1. Well, honor is the subject of my story. 

I cannot tell what you and other men" 

Think of this life; but, for my single self, 

I had as lief not be, as live to be 

In awe of such a thing as I myself. 

2. I was born as free as Caesar; so were you: 

We both have fed as well; and we can both: 
Endure the winter’s cold as well as he; 

For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 

The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 

Caesar said to me: Dar’st thou, Cassius, now 
Leap in with me into this angry flood, 

And swim to yonder point ? Upon the word, 
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 

And bade him follow; so, indeed, he did, 

3. The torrent roared; and we did buffet it 
With lusty sinews; throwing it aside,. 

And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 

But ere we could arrive the point proposed, 

Caesar cried: Help me , Cassius , or I sink. 

4. I, as dEneas, our great ancestor. 

Did, from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulder. 
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber, 
Did I the tired Caesar : and this man 
Is now become a god; and Cassius is 
A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 

If Caesar carelessly but nod on him,. 

5. He had a fever when he was in Spain, 

And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 
How he did shake: ’tis true, this god did shake: 

His coward lips did from their color fly; 


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And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 
Did lose its lustre : I did hear him groan : 

Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
Alas ! it cried: Give me some drink , Titinius , 

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 

A man of such a feeble temper should 
So get the start of the majestic world, 

And bear the palm alone ! 

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 

But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 

6. Brutus, and Caesar : what should be in that Caesar ? 
Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? 
Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 

Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; 
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them, 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. 

7. Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 

Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 

That he is grown so great 1 Age, thou art sham’d : 
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods'! 
When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
But it was fam’d with more than with one man '? 
When could they say, till now, that talk’d of Rome, 
That her wide walls encompass’d but one man 1 

8. Oh! you and I have heard our fathers say 

There was a Brutus, once, that would have brook’d 
The infernal devil to keep his state in Rome, 

As easily as a king, 

Caius Cassius, a brave Roman general, who, through envy to 
Julius Csesar, headed a conspiracy against him and aided in his 
assassination, caused one of his slaves to kill him (Cassius) 42 
years before Christ, Cassius’s speech should be rhetorically 
given. 


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BRUTUS’S ORATION ON THE DEATH OF 

CAESAR.— Shakspeare. 

1. Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for 
my cause; and be silent, that you may hear : believe 
me for mine honor; and have respect to mine honor, 
that you may believe : censure me in your wisdom ; 
and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. 

2. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend 
of Caesar’s, to him I say, that Brutus’s love to Caesar 
was no less than his. If then that friend demand why 
Brutus rose against Caesar,, this is my answer : Not 
that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. 

3. Had you rather Caesar w r ere living, and die 
all slaves ; than that Caesar were dead, to live all free¬ 
men 1 As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was 
fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor 
him; but, as he was ambitious , I slew him. 

4. There are tears, for his love; joy, for his fortune; 
honor, for his valor; and death, for his ambition. Who 
is here so base, that would be a bondman I If any, 
speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, 
that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him 
have I offended. Who is here so vile, that will not 
love his country ? If any, speak; for him have I of¬ 
fended. I pause for a reply. 

5. None! Then none have I offended. I have 
done no more to Caesar, than you should do to Brutus. 
The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol; 
his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; 
nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. 

6. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; 
who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive 
the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth; 
as which of you shall not ? With this I depart; that, 
as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have 
the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my 
country to need my death. 


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Marcus Brutus, whom Cassius made the dupe of his flattery 
and art, and who joined the conspiracy against Caesar, his best 
and most intimate friend, after the assassination which occurred 
in the senate house, in the 56th year of Caesar’s age, and in which 
he “ he had a hand,” fell upon his own sword, and died 42 year3 
before Christ. Caesar’s ambition was boundless; but he ought 
not to have “ suffered death.” Aside from this act of baseness 
and ingratitude, Brutus seems to have been an honorable Roman. 
The elocution of Brutus’s oration, requires a low key, slow time, 
and long quantity. , 


ANTONY’S ORATION OYER CAESAR’S BODY. 

— Shakspeare . 

1 . Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears: 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 

The evil that men do, lives after them; 

The good is oft interred with their bones: 

So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 
Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious: 

If it were so, it was a grievous fault; 

And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it. 

2 . Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 

(For Brutus is an honorable man; 

So are they all ; all honorable men,) 

Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me: 

But Brutus says he was ambitious; 

And Brutus is an honorable man. 


3. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: 

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: 

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; 

And Brutus is an honorable man. 

4. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, 



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I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; 

And sure, he is an honorable man. 

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke; 

But here I am to speak what I do know. 

5. You all did love him once, not without cause; 
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? 
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, 

And men have lost their reason!—Bear with me; 
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 

And I must pause till it come back to me. 

6. But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 

Have stood against the world: now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 

O masters ! if I were dispos’d to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honorable men: 

I will not do them wrong; I rather choose 
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 
Than I will wrong such honorable men. 

7. But here’s a parchment, with the seal of Caesar, 

I found it in his closet, ’tis his will: 

Let but the commons hear this testament, 

(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar’s wounds, 
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; 

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 

And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy, 

Unto their issue. 

8. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 

You all do know this mantle: 1 remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on; 

’T was on a summer’s evening, in his tent; 


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That day he overcame the Nervii:— 

Look ! in this place, ran Cassius’ dagger through: 
See ! what a rent the envious Casca made: 
Through this, the well beloved Brutus stabb’d; 

And, as he pluck’d his cursed steel away, 

Mark how the blood of Caesar follow’d it. 

9. This was the most unkindest cut of all; 

For when the noble Coesar saw him stab, 
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms, 

Quite vanquished him: then burst his mighty heart; 
And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 

Even at the base of Pompey’s statua, 

Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 

10. 0, what a fall was there, my countrymen! 

Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 

Whilst bloody treason flourish’d over us. 

O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel 
The dint of pity: these are gracious drops. 

Kind souls, what! weep you, when you but behold 
Our Caesar’s vesture wounded 1 Look you here ! 
Here is himself, marr’d, as you see, by traitors. 

11. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 

They that have done this deed, are honorable: 

What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
That made them do it; they are wise and honorable, 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 

12. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts; 

I am no orator, as Brutus is; 

But as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, 

That love my friend; and that they know full well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him. 

13. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor power of speech, 

To stir men’s blood: 1 only speak right on: ' 


FOR EXERCISES. 


109 


I tell you that, which you yourselves do know; 
Show you sweet Caesar’s wounds, poor, poor dumb 
mouths, 

And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 

Marcus Antony, a brave and unprincipled Roman, who, for the 
purpose of elevating himself to power, procured a public funeral 
for Ceesar, in favor of whom, the above oration which he made 
so much inflamed the populace against the conspirators, that they 
were obliged to leave the city, rather than fall into the hands of 
the other members of the triumvirate. He afterwards went to 
Egypt, where, through love to queen Cleopatra, he terminated his 
own existence, 30 years before Christ. The reader is referred 
to my remarks in reference to Antony’s oration, in the chapter 
on Irony. 

The oration is highly rhetorical. A portion of it requires a 
high key, some parts of it a low, others a middle key. The 
reader or declaimer must both understand its sentiments, and feel 
as if they were his own. He must imagine himself to be employed 
in delivering a funeral discourse over the dead body of a beloved 
friend, who had been murdered. The pathetic portion of the ora¬ 
tion requires slow time and quantity. There is no better piece 
for an elocutionary exercise, with which I am acquainted. 


THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.— Wolfe. 

1. Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, 

As his corse o'er the ramparts we hurried ; 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot, 

O’er the grave where our hero we buried. 

2. We buried him darkly at dead of night, 

The sod with our bayonets turning, 

By the trembling moonbeams’ misty light, 

And our lantern dimly burning. 

3. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

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Nor in sheet nor in shroud We hound him; 

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 

With his martial cloak around him. 

4. Few and short were the prayers we said— 

We spoke not a word of sorrow ; 

But steadfastly gaz’d on the face of the dead, 

And bitterly thought of the morrow. 

5. We thought as we hollow’d his narrow bed, 

And smooth’d down his lowly pillow, 

That the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his 
head, 

And we, far away o’er the billow. 

6. Lightly they’ll speak of the spirit that’s gone. 

And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him; 

But little he’ll reck, if they let him sleep on, 

In the grave where his comrades have laid him. 

7* Not the half of our heavy task was done, 

When the bell toll’d the hour for retiring; 

And we knew by the distant, random gun, 

That the foe was then suddenly firing. 

8. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame, fresh and gory: 

We carv’d not a line, we rais’d not a stone, 

But left him alone—with his glory. 

The “ Burial of Sir John Moore” requires a low key, slow 
time, and long quantity. 


LAST WORDS OF ROBERT EMMET. 

1. If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in 
the concerns and cares of those who were dear to them 
in this transitory life, O, ever dear and venerated 



FOR EXERCISES. 


Ill 


shade of my departed father, look down with scrutiny 
upon the conduct of your suffering son ; and see if I 
have^ even for a moment, deviated from those princi¬ 
ples of morality and patriotism which it was your care 
to instil into my youthful mind, and for which I am 
now to offer up my life. 

2 . My lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice— 
the blood which you seek, is not congealed by the ar¬ 
tificial terrors which surround your victim ; it circu¬ 
lates warmly and unruffled, through the channels 
which God created for noble purposes, but which you 
are bent to destroy for purposes so grievous, that 
they cry to heaven. Be yet patient! I have but a 
few words more to say. I am going to my cold and 
silent grave—my lamp of life is nearly extinguished— 
my race is run—the grave opens to receive me, and I 
sink into its bosom ! 

3. I have but one request to ask at my departure 
from this world,—it is the charity of its silence. Let 
no man write my epitaph; for as no man who knows 
my motives, dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice 
or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose 
in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscri¬ 
bed, until other times, and other men, can do justice to 
my character. When my country takes her place 
among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, 
let my epitaph be written,. 

The above extract is the concluding part of the speech of Rob¬ 
ert Emmet, Esq., (a distinguished Irish orator and patriot,) be¬ 
fore Lord Norbury, of England, on an indictment for high treason. 
He was condemned before he was tried ; and, under the combined 
influence of prejudice and tyranny, he was executed in the year 
1803. The extract from his last speech, here given, requires 
quantity in its elocution. 


112 


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LINES RELATING TO CURRAN’S DAUGHTER 
TO WHOM EMMET WAS ENGAGED 
IN MARRIAGE.— Moore: 

1. She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, 

And lovers around her are sighing; 

But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, 
For her heart in his grave is lying. 

2. She sings the wild song of her dear native plains. 

Every note which he lov’d awaking— 

Ah ! little they think, who delight in her strains, 
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking. 

3. He had liv’d for his love—for his country he died; 

They were all that to life had intwin’d him— 

Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, 

Nor long will his love stay behind him. 

4. Oh ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, 

When they promise a glorious morrow; 

They’ll shine o’er her sleep like a smile from the west, 
From her own lov’d island of sorrow. 

These beautiful and pathetic lines were written by Thomas 
Moore, a celebrated Irish poet, in relation to Curran’s daughter, 
to whom Robert Emmet was engaged in marriage. The fate of 
young Emmet produced “adeep impression on public sympathy,” 
and especially on the heart of his betrothed. Irving says : “She 
wasted away in a slow and hopeless decline, and at length sank into 
the grave, the victim of a broken heart.” The above lines should be 
read or recited on a very low key, with slow time, and long quantity. 


THE DRUNKARD AND HIS BOTTLE.— 

Cincinnati Journal . 

1. Sober . Touch thee! No. Viper of vengeance ! 
I’ll break thy head against the wall. 



FOR EXERCISES. 


113 


Did you not promise—aye— 

To make me strong as Samson— 

And rich—rich as Croesus— 

(I’ll wring thy villainous neck,) 

And wise—wise as Solomon, 

And happier than the happiest 1 

2. But instead of this—villain ! 

You’ve stripped me of my locks— 

Left my pocket empty as a cuckoo’s nest 
In March—fooled me out of all my senses— 
Made me ragged—made me wretched— 
And then laid me in a ditch! 

3, Touch thee ! sure as there’s vengeance 
In this fist, I’ll scar the moon 

With thy broken skull! 

But—one embrace before thou die:—( tast- 
™g,) 

’Tis best to part in friendship. 

Ah ! thou hast some virtues yet : 

I always thought ’twas best 
To give the devil his due : 

And— {tasting,) —though devil thou art, 
Thou hast a pleasant face— 

A sparkling eye—a ruby lip— 

A blushing cheek—and thy breath— {tast- 
™g,)— 

’Tis sw-e-eter than the 
Bre-e-zes that ev-er gambol 
Till the break of day, 

A-a-mong the beds of ros-es. 

5. Feeling My ho-honey— (tasting) —thou shalt not 
best. die. 

I’ll stand by thee, day and night, 

And fi-ight like Her-(hic)-cu-les. 

I’ll tea-e-each the parson (hie) a little wis¬ 
dom. 


4. Feeling 
lrood . 


Feeling 

better. 


10 * 


114 

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I’ll preach (hie) tem-per-ance too.. 

I’ll live on mil-(hic)-k and ’oney, 

And— (falling ,)—be the ha-hap-pL-est 
man on earth, (hie.) 

The “ Drunkard’s Address to his Bottle” teaches us a useful 
lesson. It illustrates, in a striking manner, that propensity of our 
nature, which, as sung the moral poet, Pope, leads us to pass from 
the detestation of vice first seen, to its endurance when seen too 
often, and thence to its embrace, when familiarized to the eye. 

It is said that Socrates used to imitate intoxicated persons, to 
illustrate, before the Athenians, the virtue of temperance. The 
above address may be so given as to exhibit liviitg evidence of the 
deleterious effects of intemperance, upon our moral, intellectual, 
and physical powers. 


DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.— 

Jefferson. 

1. When, in the course of human events, it becomes 
necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands 
which have connected them with another, and to as¬ 
sume, among the powers of the earth, the separate and 
equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature’s 
God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of 
mankind, requires that they should declare the causes 
which impel them to the separation. 

2. We hold these truths to be self-evident :—that 
all men are created equal; that they are endowed by 
their Creator with certain inalienable rights ; that 
among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happi¬ 
ness; 

3. That, to secure these rights, governments are in¬ 
stituted among men, deriving their just powers from 
the consent of the governed ; that whenever any form 
of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is 
the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to 
institute a new government, laying its foundation on 



FOR EXERCISES, 


115 


such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, 
as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety 
and happiness. 

4. Prudence,, indeed,, will dictate, that governments 
long established, should not be changed for light and 
transient causes ; and, accordingly, all experience hath 
shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while 
evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abol¬ 
ishing the forms to which they are accustomed. 

5. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, 
pursuing invariably the same object, evinces a design 
to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their 
right, it is their duty , to throw off such government, 
and to provide new guards for their future security. 
Such has been the patient sufferance of these colonies ; 
and such is now the necessity which constrains them 
to alter their former system of government. 

6. The history of the present king of Great Britain, 
is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all 
having, in direct object, the establishment of an abso¬ 
lute tyranny over these States. To prove this, let 
facts be submitted to a candid world. 

7. He lias refused his assent to laws the most whole¬ 
some and: necessary for the public good. 

8. He has forbidden his governors to pass laws of 
immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended 
in their operation, till his assent should be obtained ; 
and, when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to 
attend to them. 

9. He has refused to pass other laws for the accom¬ 
modation of large districts of people, unless those peo¬ 
ple would relinquish the right of representation in the 
legislature,— a right inestimable to them, and formida¬ 
ble to tyrants only. 

10. He has called together legislative bodies at 
places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the 
repository of their public records, for the sole purpose 
of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures. 

11. He has dissolved representative houses repeat¬ 
edly, for opposing, with manly firmness, his invasion? 
on the rights of the people. 


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12. He has refused, for a longtime after such disso¬ 
lutions, to cause others to be elected ; whereby the 
legislative powers, incapable of annihilation, have re¬ 
turned to the people at large, for their exercise; the 
State remaining, in the mean time, exposed to all the 
danger of invasion from without, and convulsions 
within. 

13. He has endeavored to prevent the population of 
these States ; for that purpose obstructing the laws for 
naturalization of foreigners ; refusing to pass others to 
encourage their migration hither; and raising the con¬ 
ditions of new appropriations of lands. 

14. He has obstructed the administration of justice, 
by refusing his assent to laws for establishing judiciary 
powers. 

15. He has made judges dependant on his will alone, 
for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and pay¬ 
ment of their salaries. 

16. He has erected a multitude of new offices, and 
sent here swarms of officers to harass our people, and 
eat out their substance. 

17. He has kept among us, in times of peace, stand¬ 
ing armies, without the consent of our legislatures. 

18. He has affected to render the military indepen¬ 
dent of, and superior to, the civil power. 

19. He has combined with others, to subject us to a 
jurisdiction, foreign to our constitution, and unacknow¬ 
ledged by our laws ; giving his assent to their acts of 
pretended legislation 

20. For quartering large bodies of armed troops 
among us; 

21. For protecting them, by a mock trial, from pun¬ 
ishment, for any murder they should commit on the 
inhabitants of these States ; 

22. For cutting off our trade with all parts of the 
world ; 

23. For imposing taxes on us without our consent; 

24. For depriving us, in many cases, of the benefits 
of trial by jury ; 

25. For transporting us beyond the seas, to- be tried 
for pretended offences ; 


FOR EXERCISES. 


117 


26. For abolishing the free system of English laws 
in a neighboring province, establishing therein an arbi¬ 
trary government, and enlarging its boundaries, so as 
to render it at once an example and fit instrument for 
introducing the same absolute rule into these colonies; 

27. For taking away our charters, abolishing our 
most valuable laws, and altering fundamentally the 
forms of our governments ; 

28. For suspending our own legislatures, and de¬ 
claring themselves invested with power to legislate for 
us, in all cases whatsoever. 

29. He has abdicated government here, by declar¬ 
ing us out of his protection, and waging war against 
us. 

30. He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, 
burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people. 

31. He is, at this time, transporting large armies of 
foreign mercenaries, to complete the works of death, 
desolation, and tyranny, already begun,, with circum¬ 
stances of cruelty and perfidy, scarcely paralleled in 
the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the 
head of a civilized nation. 

32. He has constrained our fellow citizens, taken 
captive on the high seas, to bear arms against their 
country, to become the executioners of their friends 
and brethren, or to fall themselves by their hands. 

33. He has excited domestic insurrections among us, 
and has endeavored to bring on the inhabitants of our 
frontiers, the merciless Indian savages, whose known 
rule of warfare is an undistinguished destruction of all 
ages, sexes, and conditions. 

34. In every stage of these oppressions, we have pe¬ 
titioned for redress in the most humble terms. Our 
repeated petitions have been answered only by re¬ 
peated injury. 

35. A prince, whose character is thus marked by 
every act which may define a tyrant, is unfit to be the 
ruler of a free people. 

36. Nor have we been wanting in attentions to our 
British brethren. We have warned them, from time 


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to time, of attempts made by their legislature to ex¬ 
tend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. 

37. We have reminded them of the circumstances of 
our emigration and settlement here. 

38. We have appealed to their native justice and 
magnanimity; and we have conjured them by the ties 
of our common kindred, to disavow these usurpations, 
which would inevitably interrupt our connexions and 
correspondence. 

39. They, too, have been deaf to the voice of jus¬ 
tice and consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce 
in the necessity which denounces our separation; and 
hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind,.—enemies 
in war : in peace, friends. 

40. We, therefore, the representatives of the United 
States of America, in General Congress assembled, 
appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the 
rectitude of our intentions, do, in the name and by the 
authority of the good people of these colonics, solemnly 
publish and declare, that these United Colonies are, 
and of right ought to be, free and independent States; 
that they are absolved from all allegiance to the Bri¬ 
tish crown; and that all political connexion between 
them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to 
be totally dissolved; and that, as free and independent 
States, they have full power to levy war, conclude 
peace, contract alliances, establish commerce, and to 
do all other acts and things which independent States 
may of right do. 

41. And for the support of this declaration, with a 
firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, 
we mutually pledge to each other, our lives, our for¬ 
tunes, and our sacred honor. 

The “ Declaration of Independence” was unanimously adop¬ 
ted at Philadelphia, by the representatives, of the (then) “ Thir¬ 
teen United Colonies of America,” in congress assembled, July 
4th, 1770. In early life, Thomas Jefferson, by whom the Declar¬ 
ation was written, swore eternal hatred to every form of tyranny 
over the mind of man.” The eloquence of the Declaration, con¬ 
sists chiefly in its severe and sublime simplicity. It contains a 


FOR EXERCISES. 


119 


hare recital of facts and self-evident truths. The subject to which 
it relates, and the circumstances under which it wus adopted, were 
too serious for rhetoric. Any attempt at eloquence would have 
been altogether out of place. The occasion itself, forming as it 
docs, tho most important epoch in the history of nations, was full 
of eloquence. The paper is just what it ought to be, a declaration 
of tho imprescriptible rights of man. “ Independence Hall” still 
remains. When at Philadelphia, a few years since, I visited the 
consecrated “ Hall.” Hong may it stand ; for, whenever Ameri¬ 
can citizens, especially those who are the immediate descendants 
of the veterans of the revolution, visit it, they will be reminded, 
as I was, of the great, obligations of gratitude which we owe to our 
political fathers. The “ Hall of Independence” will, however, ere 
long be mutilated, and ultimately destroyed, by the rudo hand of 
time. But the following names of tho signors of tho Declaration, 
and all who co-opornted with them, in conducting the American 
revolution to a successful issue, will live forever; for virtue and 
truth are immortal. 


JOHN HANCOCK, 

JoSiah Bartlett, 
William Whipple, 
Matthew Thornton, 
Samuel Adams, 

John Adams, 

Robert Treat Paine, 
Elbridgo Gerry, 
Stephen Hopkins, 
William Ellery, 
Roger Sherman, 
Samuel Huntington, 
William Williams, 
Oliver Wolcott, 
William Floyd, 

Philip Livingston, 
Francis Lewis, 

Lewis Morris, 
Richard Stockton, 
John Witherspoon, 
Francis Hopkinson, 
John Hurt, 

Abraham Clark, 
Robert Morris, 
Benjamin Rush, 
Benjamin Franklin, 
John Morton, 

George Clymer, 


James Smith, 

George Tnylor, 

James Wilson, 

George Ross, 

Ca;sar Rodney, 

George Read, 

Thomas M‘Kean, 

Samuel Chase, 

William Paca, 

Thomas Stone, 

Charles Carroll of Carrollton, 
George Wythe, 

Richard Henry Lee, 

Thomas Jefferson, 

Benjamin Harrison, 

Thomas Nelson, jun., 

Francis Lightfoot Lee, 

Carter Braxton, 

William Hooper, 

Joseph llewes, 

John Penn, 

Edward Rutledge, 

Thomas Heyward, jun., 
Thomas Lynch, jun., 

Arthur Middleton, 

Button Gwinnett, 

Lyman Hall, 

George Walton. 


Tho Declaration is read at our celebrations on each returning 
anniversary of the independence of tho United Slates, in nearly all 


120 


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our cities and villages ; but we all know, that it is not always well 
read. In reading it, great pains should be taken to avoid errors 
in articulation. The rate of utterance should not be very rapid, 
nor very slow. The style should be colloquial, and yet animated 
and manly. 


SPEECH OF PATRICK HENRY, ON THE 
QUESTION OF WAR WITH ENGLAND. 

1. Mr. President :—It is natural for man to in¬ 
dulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our 
eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of 
that syren, till she transforms us into beasts. Is this 
the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous 
struggle for liberty! Are we disposed to be of the 
number of those, who, having eyes, see not, and having 
ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern 
their temporal salvation 1 For my part, whatever an¬ 
guish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the 
whole truth; to know the worst , and to provide for it. 

2. I have but one lamp by which my feet are guid¬ 
ed ; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no 
way of judging of the future, but by the past. And, 
judging by the past, I wish to know what there has 
been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last 
ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen 
have been pleased to solace themselves and the house. 
Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has 
been lately received ! Trust it not. Sir ; it will prove 
a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be be¬ 
trayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious 
reception of our petition comports with those warlike 
preparations which cover our waters and darken our 

3. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love 
and reconciliation ! Have we shown ourselves so un¬ 
willing to be reconciled, that force must be called in 
to win back our love! Let us not deceive ourselves, 
Sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation 



FOR EXERCISES. 


12J 


‘—the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask 
gentlemen, Sir, what means this martial array, if its 
purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gen¬ 
tlemen assign any other possible motive for it ? Has 
Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, 
to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies 1 
No, Sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they 
can be meant for no other. They are sent over to 
. bind and rivet upon us, those chains which the British 
ministry have been so long forging. 

4. And what have we to oppose to them ? Shall we 
try argument 1 Sir, we have been trying that for the 
last ten years. Have we any thing new to offer upon 
the subject ? Nothing. We have held the subject up 
in every light of which it is capable ; but it has been 
all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble 
supplication ? What terms shall we find, which have 
not been already exhausted 1 Let us not, I beseech 
you, deceive ourselves longer. 

5. Sir, we have done every thing that could be 
done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. 
We have petitioned—we have remonstrated—we have 
supplicated—we have prostrated ourselves before the 
throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest 
the tyrannical hands of the ministry and parliament. 
Our petitions have been slighted—our remonstrances 
have produced additional violence and insult—our sup¬ 
plications have been disregarded—and we have been 
spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. 

6. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the 
fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no 
longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free—if 
we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privi¬ 
leges for which we have been so long contending—if 
we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in 
which we have been so long engaged, and which we 
have pledged ourselves never to abandon, until the 
glorious object of our contest shall be obtained—we 
must fight! —I repeat it, Sir—we must fight!! An 
appeal to arms and to the God of hosts, is all that is 
left us! 

11 


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7. They tell us, Sir, that we are weak—unable to 
cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall 
we be stronger ? Will it, be the next week, or the 
next year ? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, 
and when a British guard shall be stationed in every 
house] Shall we gather strength by irresolution and 
inaction ] Shall we acquire the means of effectual re¬ 
sistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging 
the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall 
have bound us hand and foot ] Sir, we are not weak, 
if we make a proper use of those means which the 
God of nature hath placed in our power. 

8. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause 
of liberty, and in such a country as that which we 
possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy 
can send against us. Besides, Sir, we shall not fight 
our battles alone. There is a just God, who presides 
over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up 
friends to fight our battles for us. 

9. The battle, Sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is 
to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, Sir, we 
have no election. If we were base enough to desire 
it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There 
is no retreat, but in submission and slavery! Our 
chains are forged ! Their clanking may be heard on 
the plains of Boston ! The war is inevitable—and let 
it come ! I repeat it, Sir, let it come !! 

10. It is in vain, Sir, to extenuate the matter. Gen¬ 

tlemen may cry peace , peace —but there is no peace. 
The war is actually begun! The next gale that 
sweeps from the north, will bring to our ears the clash 
of resounding arms ! Our brethren are already in the 
field ! Why stand we here idle ] What is it that gen¬ 
tlemen wish ? What would they have ? Is life so 
dear , or peace so sweet , as to be purchased at the 
price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty 
God !—I know not what course others may take ; but 
as for me, give me liberty , or give me- death ! 

This speech of Patrick Henry, was made in the spring of 1775, 
before the convention of delegates from the several counties of 



FOR EXERCISES. 


123 

Virginia. The subject upon which he spoke, being a question of 
freedom or slavery, called into active and irrepressible operation, 
ail the energies of his nature. The matter which the speech con¬ 
tains, is so excellent, and the manner in which it was delivered, 
was so eloquent, that “ it made the prince tremble on his distant 
throne, and shook the brightest jewels from the British crown.” 
Mr. Henry was decidedly the greatest orator of the revolution. 
To say that he was a patriot, would be supererogatory. The fol¬ 
lowing incident exhibits evidence of his humor as w r ell as elo¬ 
quence. “ Hook, a wealthy Scotchman, who was unfriendly to 
the American cause, instituted a suit against Mr.Venable, a com¬ 
missary in the army, for taking two of his steers for the use of 
his troops. Patrick Henry, as counsel for the defendant, painted 
the sufferings of the army in a manner powerfully affecting ; and 
asked : ‘ Where is the man, who has an American heart in his bo¬ 
som, who wouldmot have thrown open his fields, and barns, and 
the doors of his house, for the support of the famished patriots ? 
Where is the man ? There he stands. The cry of every pa¬ 
triot was: Washington and Liberty, as it rung and echoed 
through the American ranks, and reverberated from the hills and 
shores of the neighboring river ; but hark!’ said Henry, ‘what 
notes of discord are these which disturb the general joy, and silence 
the acclamations of victory? They are the notes of John Hook, 
hoarsely bawling through the American camp, beef, beef \ beef.’ ” 

“ Henry obtained the cause by acclamation. Nor did the effect 
of his speech stop here. Hook began to hear a cry more terrible 
than that of beef,—it was the cry of tar and feathers , from which 
nothing saved him, but his speedy departure from the place.” 

To obtain a thorough knowledge of Patrick Henry’s character, 
it is necessary to read Wirt’s work on that subject. The speech 
of Henry on the question of war with England, is a good one 
upon which to practice, as an exercise in elocution. It requires 
a pretty high key, rather a rapid rate of utterance, occasionally 
some quantity, and, frequently, emphasis. The phrases in which 
he tells his hearers that they must “ appeal to arms,” and “ fight,” 
should be given on a high key. The name of Deity, with quan¬ 
tity, and a low key. 


CARDINAL WOLSEY’S SOLILOQUY ON 
AMBITION.— Shakspeare. 

1. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! 
This is the state of man : To-day, he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow, blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; 



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The third day, comes a frost, a hilling frost ; 

And, when he thinks, good, easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening , nips his root; 

And then he falls, as I do. 

2. I have ventur’d. 

Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
These many summers in a sea of glory, 

But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me ; and now has left me 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate you! 

1 feel my heart now open’d. 

3. O ! how wretched 

Is that poor man that hangs on princes’ favors ! 
There are, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin, 

More pangs and fears, than war or women have ; 
And when he falls, he falls, like Lucifer,, 

Never to rise again. 

“ Wolsey’s Soliloquy on Ambition,” and also his “ Farewell 
Address to Cromwell,” should be read or recited in a plaintive 
manner, on rather a low key, with a slow’ rate of utterance, and 
with quantity. 


CARDINAL WOLSEY’S FAREWELL ADDRESS 
TO CROMWELL.— Shakspeare. 

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries ; but thou hast forc’d me, 

Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 

Let’s dry our eyes ; and, thus far, hear me, Crom¬ 
well ; 

And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 

And sleep in dull, cold marble, where mention 
Of me must no more be heard, say then, I taught 
thee : 



FOR EXERCISES. 


125 


Say, Wolsey , that once trod the waves of glory, 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, 
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 

A sure and safe one, though thy master miss’d it. 

2. Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me. 
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition : 

By that sin, fell the angels ; how can man, then, 
Though the image of his Maker, hope to win by it ? 
Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee. 
Corruption wins not more than honesty ! 

Still in thy right hand, carry gentle peace, 

To silence envious tongues. 

Be just, and fear not. 

Let all the ends thou aims’t at, be thy country’s ? 
Thy God’s, and truth’s ; then, if thou fall’st, O 
Cromwell! 

Thou fall’st a blessed martyr. O, Cromwell, Crom¬ 
well, 

Had I but serv’d my God with half the zeal 
I serv’d my king , he would not, in my age, 

Have left me naked to mine enemies. 


JUDAH’S SPEECH TO JOSEPH.— Genesis xliv. 

1. Then Judah came near unto him, and said, O my 
lord, let thv servant, I pray thee, speak a word in my 
lord’s ears, and let not thy anger burn against thy 
servant: for thou art even as Pharaoh. My lord as¬ 
ked his servants, saying, Have ye a father, or brother? 

2. And we said unto my lord, We have a father, an 
old man, and a child of his old age, a little one; and his 
brother is dead , and he alone is left of his mother, and 
his father loveth him. And thou saidst unto thy ser¬ 
vants, Bring him down unto me that I may set mine 
eyes upon him. 



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3. And we said unto my lord, The lad cannot leave 
his father ; for if he should leave his father, his father 
would die . And thou saidst unto thy servants, Except 
your youngest brother come down with you, ye shall 
see my face no more. And it came to pass, when we 
came up unto thy servant my father, we told him the 
words of my lord. 

4. And our father said, Go again and buy us a little 
food. And w T e said, We cannot go down, unless our 
youngest brother be with us, for we may not see the 
man’s face except our youngest brother be with us. 
And thy servant my father said unto us, Ye know that 
I had two sons : and the one went out from me, and I 
said, surely he is tore in pieces ; and I saw him not 
since. 

5. And if ye take this also from me, and mischief be** 
fall him, ye shall bring down my grey hairs with sorrow 
to the grave. Now, therefore, when I come to thy 
servant my father, and the lad be not with us, (seeing 
that his life is bound up in the lad’s life,) it shall come 
to pass, when he seeth that the lad is not with us, that 
he will die: and thy servants shall bring down the 
grey hairs of thy servant our father with sorrow to 
the grave. 

6. For thy servant became surety for the lad unto* 
my father, saying, If I bring him not unto thee, then 
I shall bear the blame to my father forever. Now 
therefore, I pray thee, let thy servant abide, instead of 
the lad, a bondman to my lord ; and let the lad go up 
with his brethren. For how shall I go up to my fa¬ 
ther, and the lad be not with me 1 lest peradventure I 
see the evil,that shall come on my father. 

Judah’s speech is very pathetic. Its effect upon Joseph was so 
great, that he immediately disclosed himself. No sooner had Ju¬ 
dah finished it, than Joseph said to his brethren, “I am Joseph ; 
doth my father yet live ? ” 

The italic words should be given with slight emphasis ; the key 
sould be low and, the time rather slow. 


FOR, EXERCISES. 


127 


GEORGE M’DUFFIE’S ANNOUNCEMENT OF 
THE DEATH OF A COLLEAGUE IN THE 
HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES OF 
THE UNITED STATES. 

1. Mr. Speaker :—I rise to discharge a painful and 
melancholy duty, by announcing the death of Gen. 
James Blair, a representative from the State of South 
Carolina. The occurrences of the few last weeks fur¬ 
nish to us all, an impressive and awful admonition of 
the precarious tenure by which we hold this fleeting 
and feverish existence, while we are but too prone to 
act as if it would never have an end. 

2. Scarcely have our feelings recovered from the 
violence of the shock produced by the extraordinary 
and unexampled spectacle of one of our number falling 
dead before our eyes, while in the act of addressing the 
house on a great question of deep and absorbing inter¬ 
est, when we are summoned to pay the last melancholy 
offices of humanity to another, whose death was equally 
sudden. 

3. Mr.. Speaker, I never have been able to feel that 
on occasions of this kind, panegyric is an appropriate 
tribute to the memory of the dead. They are beyond 
the reach of praise ; and it is not by this that they are 
judged, either in this world or the next. Biographical 
details, however brief, are, in my opinion, not more 
appropriate. Where the deceased is known, they are 
unnecessary ; where he is unknown, they are seldom 
of any interest. 

4. His name should be his epitaph ; and, however 
blank it may appear to the vacant eye of the passing 
stranger, it will always have the power to call up the 
recollection of his virtues in the bosom of friendship, 
and the tear of undissembled sorrow in the eye of af¬ 
fection—offerings more grateful and congenial to the 
disembodied spirit, than the proudest monument which 
human art can erect, or the most pompous eulogium 
which human eloquence can pronounce. 


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5. Without saying more, Sir, 1 now ask the house to 
bestow upon the memory of the deceased, the custom¬ 
ary testimonials of respect, by adopting the resolution 
I hold in my hand. 

Mr. M’Duffie, of South Carolina, has been Governor of that 
State, as well as a representative in congress. This is a burst of 
true eloquence* 


DEA TH.— II. Pickering . 

1. 0 death ! so long the cause of all our tears, 

Art thou, in truth, thus beautiful and fair 1 
Then let me haste to that pale region, where 
The myriad sons of men of other years, 

Have laid them down. 

2. If such thou art, our fears 
Are vain, and sweet it were with thee to share 
The grave’s repose. But why that pensive air,. 
When youth eternal on thy brow appears V 
For nothing else seems mortal in thy mien. 

3. In thee, methinks the beauteous type I see 
Of that bright being, man himself shall be, 

When from a sleep as breathless as serene, 

He wakes—save that upon his radiant face 
Languor and sorrow then shall have no trace. 

These beautiful lines require a low key, slow time, and long 
quantity. 


OSSIAN’S ADDRESS TO THE MOON. 

1. Daughter of heaven, fair art thou ! the silence of 
thy face is pleasant! Thou comest forth in loveliness. 
The stars attend thy blue course in the east. The 
clouds rejoice in thy presence, O moon. They brighten 
their dark-brown sides. Who is like thee in heaven, 




FOR EXERCISES. 129 

light of the silent night! The stars in thy presence, 
turn away their sparkling eyes. 

2. Whither dost thou retire from thy course, when 
the darkness of thy countenance grows. Hast thou 
thy hall, like Ossian ] Dwellest thou in the shadow of 
grief] Have thy sisters fallen from heaven] Are 
they who rejoice with thee at night, no more ] Yes ! 
they have fallen, fair light! and thou dost often retire 
to mourn. But thou thyself shalt fail, one night, and 
leave thy blue path in heaven. 

3. The stars will then lift their heads and rejoice. 
Thou art now clothed with thy brightness. Look from 
thy gates in the sky. Burst the cloud, O wind, that 
the daughter of night may look forth: that the shaggy 
mountains may brighten, and the ocean roll its white 
waves in light. 


ON EDUCATION.— Phillips. 

1. Education is a companion which no misfortune 
can depress, no clime destroy, no enemy alienate, no 
despotism enslave ; at home a friend, abroad an intro¬ 
duction, in solitude a solace, in society an ornament ; 
it chastens vice, if guides virtue, it gives at once a 
grace and government to genius. 

2. Without it, what is man ] A splendid slave ! a 
reasoning savage, vacillating between the dignity of 
an intelligence derived from God, and the degradation 
of passions participated with brutes ; and in the acci¬ 
dent of their alternate ascendency shuddering at the 
terrors of an hereafter, or embracing the horrid hope 
of annihilation. 

3. What is this wondrous world of his residence ] 

A mighty maze, and all without a plan ; 

a dark, and desolate, and dreary cavern, without 
wealth, or ornament, or order. But light up within it 



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the torch of knowledge, and how wondrous the trans¬ 
ition ! 

4. The seasons change, the atmosphere breathes, 
the landscape lives, earth unfolds its fruits, ocean rolls 
in its magnificence, the heavens display their constella¬ 
ted canopy, and the grand, animated spectacle of nature 
rises revealed before him, its varieties regulated, and 
its mysteries resolved ! 

5. The phenomena which bewilder, the prejudices 
which debase, the superstitions which enslave, vanish 
before education. Like the holy symbol which blazed 
upon the cloud before the hesitating Constantine, if man 
follow but its precepts, purely, it will not only lead 
him to the victories of this world, but open the very 
portals of Omnipotence for his admission. 


CONCLUSION OP DANIEL WEBSTER’S 
SPEECH, AT WASHINGTON, ON THE 22d OF 
FEBRUARY, 1832, 

IT BEING THE CENTENNIAL BIRTH DAY OF GEORGE 
WASHINGTON. 

Gentlemen, a hundred years hence, other disci¬ 
ples of Washington will celebrate his birth, with no 
less of sincere admiration, than we now commemorate 
it. When they shall meet, as we now meet, to do 
themselves and him the honor, so surely as they shall 
see the blue summits of his native mountains rise in the 
horizon, so surely as they shall behold the river on 
whose banks he lived, and on whose banks he rests, 
still flow to the sea, so surely may they see, as we now 
see, the flag of the Union floating on the top of the 
Capitol; and then, as now, may the sun in his course, 
visit no land more free, more happy, more lovely, than 
this our o wn country. 



FOR EXERCISES. 


13 L 


THE SACKING OF PRAGUE.— Campbell 

1 Oh ! sacred truth ! thy triumph ceas’d awhile, 

And hope, thy sister, ceas’d with thee to smile, 
When leagu’d oppression pour’d to northern wars 
Her whisker’d panders and her fierce hussars, 
Wav’d her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
Peal’d her loud drum, and twang’d her trumpet horn; 
Tumultuous horror brooded o’er her van, 

Presaging wrath to Poland—and to man ! 

2. Warsaw’s last champion from her height survey’d, 
Wide o’er the fields, a waste of ruin laid,— 

Oh! Heav’n, he criod, my bleeding country save ! 

Is there no hand on high to shield the brave 1 
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, 
Rise fellow-men ! our country^yet remains 1 
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, 
And swear for her to live! with her to die ! 

3. He said, and on the rampart heights array’d 
His trusty warriors, few, but undismay’d ; 
Firm-pac’d and slow, a horrid front they form, 

Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; 

Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
Revenge, or death,—the watchword and reply ; 
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, 

And the loud tocsin toll’d their last alarm ! 

4. In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! 

From rank to rank your volley’d thunder flew : — 
Oh! bloodiest picture in the “Book of Time,” 
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; 

Found not a gen’rous friend, a pitying foe, 

Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! 

Drop’d from her nerveless grasp the shatter’d'spear, 
Clos’d her bright eye, and curb’d her high career ; 
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell ; 

And freedom shrieked—as Kosciusko fell! 


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5. The sun went down, nor ceas’d the carnage there, 
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air— 

On Prague’s proud arch the fires of ruin glow; 

His blood-dy’d waters murmuring far below : 

The storm prevails, the rampart yields away, 

Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay ! 

Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, 

A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call! 

Earlh shook—red meteors flash’d along the sky, 
And conscious nature shudder’d at the cry ! 

6. Oh! righteous Heaven ! ere freedom found a grave, 
Why slept the sword Omnipotent to save ? 

Where was thine arm, O vengeance ! where thy rod, 
That smote the foes of Zion and of God; 

That crush’d proud Ammon, when his iron car 
Was yok’d in wrath, and thunder’d from afar? 
Where was the storm that slumber’d till the host 
Of blood-stain’d Pharaoh left their trembling coast; 
Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow, 

And heav’d an ocean on their march below ? 

7. Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 

Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled! 

Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, 
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! 

Yet for Sarmatia’s tears of blood atone, 

And make her arm puissant as your own ! 

Oh ! once again to freedom’s cause return 
The patriot Tell—the Bruce of Bannockburn ! 

• 8. Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see 
That man hath yet a soul—and dare be free ! 

A little while, along thy sad’ning plains, 

The starless night of desolation reigns ; 

Truth shall restore the light by nature giv’n, 

And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heav’n 
Prone to the dust oppression shall be hurl’d,— ! 

Her name, her nature, wither’d from the world! 

The “Sacking of Prague” requires the voice to undergo sudden 
changes, both in pitch and quantity. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


133 


CONCLUSION OF MR. CLAY’S SPEECH AT 
LEXINGTON, KENTUCKY, IN MAY 1829, 

1. My friends and fellow-citizens, I cannot part from 
you, on possibly this last occasion of my ever publicly 
addressing you, without reiterating the expression of 
my thanks, from a heart overflowing with gratitude. 
I came among you, now more than thirty years ago, 
an orphan boy, pennyless, a stranger to you all, with¬ 
out friends, without the favor of the great. 

2. You took me up, cherished me, caressed me, pro¬ 
tected me, honored me. You have constantly poured 
upon me a bold and unabated stream of innumerable 
favors. Time, which wears out every thing, has in¬ 
creased and strengthened your affections for me. 

3. When I seemed deserted by almost the whole 
world, and assailed by almost every tongue, and pen, 
and press, you have fearlessly and manfully stood by 
me, with unsurpassed zeal and undiminished friendship. 
When I felt as if I should sink beneath the storm of 
abuse and detraction, which was violently raging around 
me, I have found myself upheld and sustained by your 
encouraging voices and your approving smiles. 

4. I have doubtless committed many faults and in¬ 
discretions, over which you have thrown the broad 
mantle of your charity. But I can say, and in the pre¬ 
sence of my God and of this assembled multitude, I will 
say, that I have honestly and faithfully served my 
country ; that I have never wronged it; and that how¬ 
ever unprepared I lament that I am, to appear in the 
Divine presence, on other accounts, I invoke the stern 
justice of His judgment on my public conduct, without 
the smallest apprehension of his displeasure. 

Mr. Clay’s speech, from which the above extract is taken, was 
made, at ‘‘Fowler’s Garden,” near Lexington, Kentucky, on the 
10th of May, 1829, on the occasion of a public dinner being given 
him, which was soon after his term as Secretary of State expired, 
on his return to his adopted State. His health, at that time, was 
so delicate, that he observed to me, he thought it doubtful whether 
12 


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he should live another year. He spoke under the influence of 
deep pathos when he was concluding his speech. Thousands 
were in attendance; and when the orator said : “I came among 
you an orphan boy,” &c., almost every eye was impearled by tears. 
Mr. Clay’s scorning to forget the humble origin from which he 
rose to be a member of the House of Representatives, Speaker of 
the House, Secretary of State, and a Senator in Congress, may 
be regarded as a happy exhibition of grateful sympathy. Ilis 
voice is uncommonly deep, musical, and powerful; and his ges¬ 
tures are very animated, and perfectly natural and graceful. 


THE PETITION OF THE WIFE OF ALMAS 
ALI CAWN, TO WARREN HASTINGS. 

1. May the blessings of thy God wait upon thee, 
may the sun of glory shine around thy head, and may 
the gates of plenty, honor, and happiness, be always 
open to thee and thine. 

2. May no sorrow distress thy days, may no strife 
disturb thy nights, may the pillow of peace kiss thy 
cheeks, and the pleasures of imagination attend thy 
dreams ; and when length of years makes thee tired 
of earthly joys, and the curtain of death gently closes 
round the last sleep of human existence, may the angels 
of God attend thy bed, and take care that the expiring 
lamp of life shall not receive one rude blast to hasten 
its extinction. 

3. O, hearken then, to the voice of distress, and 
grant the petition of thy servant. Spare the father of 
my children, save my husband, my all that is dear! 
Consider, Sir, that he did not become rich by iniquitv; 
and that what he possessed, was the inheritance of a 
long line of flourishing ancestors, who, in those smiling 
days, when the thunder of Great Britain was not heard 
on the fertile plains of Hindoostan, reaped their har¬ 
vests in quiet, and enjoyed their patrimony unmolested. 

d* Think, O think! that the God you worship, de¬ 
lights not in the blood of the innocent; remember thv 
own commandment : “Thou shalt not kill; ,? and by the 
order of heaven, give me back my Almas AJi Cawn; 



FOR EXERCISES. 


135 


and take all our wealth, strip us of all our precious 
stones, of all our gold and silver ; but take not the life 
of my husband ! Innocence is seated on his brow, and 
the milk of human kindness flows round his heart : let 
us wander through the deserts, let us become tillers 
and laborers in those delightful spots of which he was 
once lord and master; 

5. But spare, O mighty Sir ! spare his life : let not 
the instrument of death be lifted up against him, for he 
has not committed any crime: accept our treasures 
with gratitude; thou hast them at present by force: we 
will remember thee in our prayers, and forget that we 
were ever rich and powerful. 

6. My children beseech from thee the author of their 
existence; from that humanity which we have been 
told glows in the hearts of Englishmen, by the honor, 
the virtue, the honesty, and the maternal feelings of 
the great queen, whose offspring is so dear to her, the 
miserable wife of thy prisoner, beseeches"thee to save 
the life of her husband, and restore him to her arms: 
thy God will reward thee, thy country must thank thee, 
and she now petitioning will ever pray for thee. 


SPEECH OF WILLIAM PITT, EARL OF 
CHATHAM, 

ON THE SUBJECT OF EMPLOYING INDIANS TO FIGHT 
AGAINST THE AMERICANS. 

1. My lords: I am astonished—I am shocked , to hear 
such principles confessed; to hear them avowed in this 
house, or in even this country. I did not intend to have 
encroached again on your attention, but I cannot re¬ 
press my indignation. I feel myself impelled to speak. 

2. My lords, we are called upon as members of this 
house, as men, as Christians, to protest against such 
horrible barbarity—“that God and nature have put 
into our hands!” What ideas of God and nature that 



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136 

noble lord may entertain, I know not; but I know that 
such detestable principles are equally abhorrent to re¬ 
ligion and humanity. 

3. What! to attribute the sacred sanction of God 
and nature, to the massacres of the Indian’s scalping 
knife ! to the savage, torturing, murdering, and devour¬ 
ing his unhappy victims ! Such notions shock every 
precept of morality, every feeling of humanity, every 
sentiment of honor. 

4. These abominable principles, and this more abo¬ 
minable avowal of them, demand the most decisive in¬ 
dignation. I call upon that right reverend, and this 
most learned bench, to vindicate the religion of their 
God, to support the justice of their country. I call up¬ 
on the bishops to interpose the unsullied sanctity of their 
lawn; upon the judges to interpose the purity of their 
ermine, to save us from this pollution. 

5. I call upon the honor of your lordships, to rever¬ 
ence the dignity of your ancestors, and to maintain your 
own. I call upon the spirit and humanity of my coun¬ 
try, to vindicate the national character. I invoke the 
genius of the British constitution. 

6. From the tapestry that adorns these walls, the 
immortal ancestor of this noble lord frowns with indig¬ 
nation at the disgrace of his country. In vain did he 
defend the liberty, and establish the religion of Britain, 
against the tyranny of Rome, if these worse than po¬ 
pish cruelties and inquisitorial practices, are endured 
among us. 

7. To send forth the merciless Indian, thirsting for 
blood ! against whom 1 your protestant brethren !— to 
lay waste their dwellings, and extirpate their race and 
name, by the aid and instrumentality of these ungov¬ 
ernable savages! 

8. Spain can no longer boast pre-eminence in barbar¬ 
ity. She armed herself with blood-hounds to extirpate 
the wretched natives of Mexico: we, more ruthless, 
loose these dogs of war against our countrymen in 
America, endeared to us by every tie that can sanctify 
humanity. 

9. I solemnly call upon your lordships, and upon ev- 


FOR EXERCISES. 


137 


ery order of men in the State, to stamp upon this infa¬ 
mous procedure the indelible stain of the public abhor¬ 
rence. More particularly, I call upon the venerable 
prelates of our religion, to do away this iniquity: let 
them perform a lustration to purify the country from 
this deep and deadly sin. 


This speech of Mr. Pitt, was made in the British parliament, 
November 18,1777, in opposition to lord Suffolk, who had said 
in the course of the debate, “ That England had a right to use all 
the means that God and nature had put into her hands, to conquer 
America.” “The tapestry” of the House of lords, of which the 
orator speaks, represents the defeat of the Spanish Armada, in 
the reign of queen Elizabeth, by admiral Howard, an ancestor of 
lord Suffolk. This admiral to whom he alludes, is a conspicuous 
figure in the tapestry. It will be seen that Mr. Pitt, although an 
Englishman, manifested an interest in the happiness of the Amer¬ 
icans. He was so eloquent, that it is justly said by Cowper: 

“It is praise enough, to fill the ambition of a private man, 

That Chatham’s language is his mother tongue.” 

It will readily occur to the student in oratory, that this speech 
should be read or recited in a very animated and energetic maimer. 


NIGHT BEFORE, AND BATTLE OF 
WATERLOO.— Byron. 

1. There was a sound of revelry by night, 

And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men. 

A thousand hearts beat happily; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
And all went merry as a marriage-bell. 

But hush ! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell. 

2 Did ye not hear it?—No; ’twas but the wind, 

Or the car rattling o’er the stony street/ 

12 * 



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On with the dance ! let joy be unconfin’d; 

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing hours withflying feet. 

But, hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more. 

As if the clouds its echo would repeat; 

And nearer, clearer , deadlier than before ! 

Arm ! arm ! it is—it is —the cannon's opening roar ! 

3. Within a windowed niche of that high hall, 

Sat Brunswick’s fated chieftain. He did hear 
That sound the first amidst the festival, 

And caught its tone with death’s prophetic ear; 

And when they smiled because he deem’d it near. 
His heart more truly knew that peal too well, 

Which stretch’d his father on a bloody bier, 

And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell. 
He rush’d into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. 

4. Ah ! then and there were hurrying to and fro, 

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 

And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blush’d at the praise of their own loveliness; 

And there were sudden partings, feudi as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne’er might be repeated. Who could guess 
If ever rnbrG should meet those mutual eyes, 

Sin/£ upon night so sweet, such awful morn could rise? 

5. And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 

And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; 

And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar; 

And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier, e’er the morningstar; 

While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, 

Or whispering with white lips—“The foe ! they come 
they come !” 

U. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life; 

Last eve, in beauty’s circle proudly gay; 


FOR EXERCISES. 


139 


The midnight brought the signal sound of strife; 

The morn, the marshalling in arms; the day, 
Battle’s magnificently stern array ! 

The thunder-clouds close over it, which when rent, 
The earth is covered thick with other clay, 

Which her own clay shall cover—heaped and pent, 
Rider and horse,—friend,—foe, in one red burial blent! 

Byron’s Waterloo is well adapted for an elocutionary exercise, 
especially the second verse, in which the sentiment requires the 
low, middle, and high key in quick succession. 


RIGHT OP FREE DISCUSSION.— D. Webster. 

1 • Important as I deem it to discuss, on all proper 
occasions, the policy of the measures at present pur¬ 
sued, it is still more important to maintain the right of 
such discussion, in its full and just extent. Sentiments 
lately sprung up, and now growing fashionable, make 
it necessary to be explicit on this point. The more I 
perceive a disposition to check the freedom of inquiry 
by extravagant and unconstitutional pretences, the 
firmer shall be the tone in which I shall assert, and the 
freer the manner in which I shall exercise it. 

2. It is the ancient and undoubted prerogative of 
this people, to canvass public measures, and the merits 
of public men. It is “ a homebred right,”—a fire side 
privilege. It hath, ever been enjoyed in every house, 
cottage, and cabin, in the nation. It is not to be 
drawn into controversy. It is as undoubted as the 
right of breathing the air, or walking on the earth. 

3. Belonging to private life, as a right, it belongs to 
public life, as a duty ; and it is the last duty which 
those whose representative I am, shall find me to 
abandon. Aiming, at all times, to be courteous and 
temperate in its use, except when the right itself shall 
be questioned, I shall then carry it to its extent. I 
shall place myself on the extreme boundary of my 



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right) and bid defiance to any arm that would move 
me from my ground. 

4. This high constitutional privilege, I shall defend 
and exercise, within this house, and without this 
house, and in all places ; in time of war, in time of 
peace, and at all times. Living, I shall assert it; dy¬ 
ing, I shall assert it; and should I leave no other inheri¬ 
tance to my children, by the blessing of God, I will 
leave them the inheritance of free principles, and the 
example of a manly, independent, and constitutional 
defence of them. 


SPEECH OF MARTIN VAN BUREN, ON 
TAKING THE CHAIR OF THE U. S. SENATE. 

1. Senators :—In entering upon the duties of the 
station to which I have been called by the people, de¬ 
ference to you, and justice to myself, require that I 
should forestall expectations which might otherwise 
be disappointed. Although for many years heretofore 
a member of the Senate, I regret that I should not 
have acquired that knowledge of the particular order 
of proceedings, which might naturally be expected. 

2. Unfortunately for me, in respect to my present 
condition, I ever found those at hand, who had more 
correctly appreciated this important branch of their 
duties, and on whose opinions, as to points of order, I 
could at all times safely rely. This remissness will, 
doubtless, for a season, cause me no small degree of 
embarrassment. So far, however, as unremitting ex¬ 
ertions on my part, and a proper respect for the advice 
of those who are better informed than myself, can 
avail, this deficiency will be remedied as speedily as pos¬ 
sible ; and I feel persuaded that the Senate, in the 
mean time, will extend to me a considerate indulgence. 

3. But however wanting I may be for the time, in a 
thorough knowledge of the technical duties of the 
chair, I entertain, I humbly hope, a deep and solemn 



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conviction of its high moral obligations. I am well 
aware, that he who occupies it, is bound to cherish 
towards the members of the body over which he pre¬ 
sides, no other feelings than those of justice and cour¬ 
tesy—-to regard them all as standing upon an honora¬ 
ble equality—to apply the rules established by them¬ 
selves for their own government, with strict imparti¬ 
ality—and to use whatever authority he possesses, in 
the manner best calculated to protect the rights, to 
respect the feelings, and to guard the reputations of 
all who may be affected by its exercise. 

4. It is no disparagement to any other branch of the 
government to say, that there is none on which the 
constitution devolves such extensive powers, as it does 
upon the Senate. There is scarcely an exercise of 
constitutional authority, in which it does not mediately 
or immediately participate : it forms an important, and, 
in some respects, an indispensable part of each of the 
three great departments, executive, legislative, and 
judicial ; and is, moreover, the body in which is made 
effectual that share of power in the federal organiza¬ 
tion,"so wisely allowed to the respective State sove¬ 
reignties. 

5. Invested with such august powers, so judiciously 
restricted, and so largely adapted to the purposes of 
good government, it is no wonder that the Senate is 
regarded by the people of the United States, as one of 
the best features, in what they, at least, consider to be 
the wisest, the freest, and happiest political system in 
the world. In fervent wishes that it may long con¬ 
tinue to be so regarded, and in a conviction of the im¬ 
portance of order, propriety, and regularity in its pro¬ 
ceedings, we must all concur. 

6. It shall be an object of my highest ambition, Sen¬ 
ators, to join with you, as far as in me lies, in effecting 
those desirable objects; and in endeavoring to realize 
the expectation formed of this body, at the adoption of 
the constitution, and ever since confidently cherished, 
that it would exercise the most efficient influence in 
upholding the federal system, and in perpetuating what 


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is at once the foundation and the safeguard of our 
country’s welfare— the union of the States. 

On the 10th of December, 1833, Mr. Van Buren, who was 
then Vice President of the United States, after being conducted 
to the chair of the Senate, by the President, pro tem ., delivered 
the above address. His manner of speaking is pleasant, happy, 
and impressive. In person, he is neither above nor below the mid¬ 
dle height; his figure is graceful, his countenance animated, and 
his head (which is now quite bald) of unusual size. 


EXTRACT FROM GENERAL JACKSON’S 
PROCLAMATION AGAINST AN ORDINANCE 
OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 

1 . Fellow Citizens : — Contemplate the condition 
of that country of which you still form an important 
part! Consider its government, uniting in one bond 
of common interest and general protection, so many 
different States, giving to all their inhabitants the 
proud title of American Citizens, protecting their 
commerce, securing their literature and their arts, fa¬ 
cilitating their intercommunication, defending their 
frontiers, and making their name respected in the re¬ 
motest parts of the earth ! 

2. Consider the extent of its territory, its increasing 
and happy population, its advance in arts which ren¬ 
der life agreeable, and the sciences which elevate the 
mind ! See education spreading the lights of religion, 
humanity, and general information, into every cottage 
in this wide extent of our Territories and States ! 
Behold it, as the asylum where the wretched and the 
oppressed find a refuge and support! 

3. Look on this picture of happiness and honor, anc 
say— We, too, are Citizens of America ! Carolina 
is one of these proud States. Her arms have defended,; 
her best blood has cemented, this happy Union ! And 
then add, if you can without horror and remorse, This 




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happy Union, we will dissolve—this picture of peace 
and prosperity, we will deface—this free intercourse, 
we will interrupt—these fertile fields, we will deluge 
with blood—the protection of that glorious flag, we 
renounce—the very names of Americans, we discard! 

4. There is yet time to show that the descendants of 
the Pinckneys, the Sumpters, the Rutledges, and of the 
thousand other names which adorn the pages on your 
revolutionary history, will not abandon that Union, to 
support which, so many of them fought, and bled, and 
died. 

5. I adjure you, as you honor their memory—as you 
love the cause of freedom, to which they dedicated 
their lives— as you prize the peace of your country, 
the lives of its best citizens, and your own fair fame, 
to retrace your steps. 

6. Snatch from the archives of your State, the dis¬ 
organizing edict of its convention—bid its members to 
re-assemble and promulgate the decided expressions of 
your will, to remain in the path which alone can'con¬ 
duct you to safety, prosperity, and honor—tell them 
that, compared to disunion, all other evils are light, 
because that brings with it an accumulation of all— 
declare that you will never take the field, unless the 
star-spangled banner of your country shall float over 
you—that you will not be stigmatized when dead, and 
dishonored and scorned while you live, as the authors 
of the first attack on the constitution of your country!— 
its destroyers you cannot be. 

7. -Fellow-citizens, the momentous case is before 
you. On your undivided support of your government, 
depends the decision of the great question it involves, 
whether your sacred Union will be preserved, and the 
blessings it secures to us as one people, shall be per- 
[ ^etuated. No one can doubt that the unanimity with 
1 which that decision will be expressed, will be such as 

o inspire new confidence in republican institutions ; 
j md that the prudence, the wisdom, and the courage 
which it will bring to their defence, will transmit them 
mimpaired and invigorated to our children. 



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8. May the Great Ruler of nations grant that the 
signal blessings with which he has favored ours, may 
not, by the madness of party or personal ambition, be 
disregarded and lost; and may His wise Providence 
bring those who have produced this crisis, to see their 
folly, before they feel the misery of civil strife ; and 
inspire a returning veneration for that Union which, if 
we may dare to penetrate His designs, he has chosen 
as the only means of attaining the high destinies to 
which we may reasonably aspire. 

In the year 1832, a State convention was held in South Caroli¬ 
na, and passed an ordinance, declaring laws of the United States, 
for imposing duties and imposts on the importation of foreign 
commodities, null and void! On the 10th of December of the 
same year, Gen. Jackson, who, at that tune, was President of the 
United States, made a proclamation, from which the above extract 
is taken. 


EXTRACT FROM MCDUFFIE’S SPEECH IN 
CONGRESS, APRIL 3, 1834, 

1. Sir, according to the system of the mythology of 
the Greeks and Romans, the different portions of the 
universe, and the various departments of human af¬ 
fairs, were assigned to different divinities, each acting 
in his appropriate sphere, and upon his separate re¬ 
sponsibility to the decrees of fate, which constituted 
the fundamental law of the system. 

2. Jupiter reigned in Olympus ; Neptune, over the 
ocean ; Pluto, in the regions below ; Apollo presided 
over the arts ; Mars, over the affairs of war ; and 
Minerva, over those of council. 

3. But, Sir, the Jupiter of this new system of poli¬ 
tical idolatry, not satisfied with holding the exclusive 
dominion of Olympus, darts from his empyrean height, 
like a baleful comet (lashing wildly through the hea¬ 
venly spheres,—invades the provinces and usurps the 
powers of all the other gods—snatches from Apollo, his 



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arrows ; from Neptune, his trident; from Mars, his 
lance ; from Minerva, her impenetrable aegis ; from 
Pluto, his consuming fires ; from the Furies, their 
scourge ; and from the Fates, their shears,—and thus, 
holding in his hands the issues of life and death, and, 
brandishing the armor of the whole pantheon, he 
proudly challenges what none dare refuse,—the passive 
obedience and trembling homage of all the minor di¬ 
vinities, 

“ Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod, 

The stamp of fate, the sanction of a god !” 

State affairs have, for several years, monopolized the attention 
of Mr. M‘Duffie. He is a bold looking man. His general ap¬ 
pearance is abstracted and gloomy. Redelivered the above ex¬ 
tract with great power, and so, should the individual who may re¬ 
cite or declaim it. 


THE UNION.— D. Webster. 

1. While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting,, 
gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and 
our children. Beyond that, I seek not to penetrate 
the veil. God grant, that, in my day, at least, that 

'curtain may not rise. God grant, that, on my vision, 
never may be opened what lies behind. 

2. When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the 
last time, the sun in the heavens, may I not see him 
shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a 
once glorious Union : oh States dissevered, discordant, 
belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, 
it may be, in fraternal blood ! 

3. Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather 
behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known 
and honored throughout the world, its arms and tro¬ 
phies streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe 
erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured—hearing 
for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as What 
is all this worth ? nor those other words of delusion 

13 


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\ 

and folly, u Liberty firsthand Union afterwards ;' 7 but 
every where, spread all over in characters of living 
light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over 
the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the 
whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every 
true American heart—“ Liberty and Union , now and 
forever , one and inseparable .” 

The above is the conclusion of Mr. Webster’s speech, in 1830, 
on Foote’s land resolution, in reply to Mr. Hayne of South Caro¬ 
lina. It is his greatest speech. 


MARCO BOZZARIS.— Ilalleck. 

I. At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 
Should tremble at his power : 

In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams, his song of triumph heard ; 

Then wore his monarch’s signet ring ; 

Then pressed that monarch’s throne,—a king ; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing. 

As Eden’s garden bird. 

2. At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 

True as the steel of their tried blades, 

Heroes in heart and hand. 

There had the Persian’s thousands stood, 

There had the glad earth drunk their blood 
On old Platsea’s day ; 

And now, there breathed that haunted air 
The sons of sires who conquered there. 

With arm to strike, and soul to dare, 

As quick, as far as they. 

3. An hour passed on—the Turk awoke ; 



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That bright dream was his last; 

He woke—to hear his sentries shriek, 

“ To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek 
lie woke—to die midst flame, and smoke, 

And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke, 

And death shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain cloud ; . 

And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 
Bozzaris cheer his band : 

“ Strike —till the last armed foe expires ; 
Strike —for your altars and your fires ; 

Strike —for the green graves of your sires ; 
God—and *your native land !” 

4. They fought—like brave men, long and well ; 
They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 
They conquered—but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 

His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile, when rang their proud huzzah, 
x And the red field was won ; 

Theri saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night’s repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

5. Come to the bridal chamber, Death! 

Come to the mother, when she feels, 

For the first time, her first-born’s breath ; 

Come when the blessed seals 
That close the pestilence are broke, 

And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 

Come in consumption’s ghastly form, 

The earthquake’s shock, the ocean’s storm ; 
Come when the heart beats high and warm, 
With banquet-song, and dance, and wine ; 
And thou art terrible !—The tear, 

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier ; 

And all we know, or dream, or fear 
Of agony, are thine. 

b. But to the hero, when his sword 


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Has won the battle for the free, 

Thv voice sounds like a prophet’s word ; 

And in its hollow tones are heard 
The thanks of millions yet to be. 

Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory’s time, 

Best thee :—there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 

We tell thy doom without a sigh : 

For thou art Freedom’s now, and Fame’s ; 

One of the few, the immortal names. 

That were not born to die. 

Marco Bozzaris, the Epaminondas of modern Greece, fell in a 
night attack upon the Turkish camp, at Laspi the site of the an¬ 
cient Platea, August 20, 182B, and expired in the moment of vic¬ 
tory. Bis last words were : “To die for liberty is a pleasure, 
and not a pain.” In reciting this piece, the voice should undergo 
such changes in pitch and quantity, as its sentiment requires. 


SPEECH OF MR. BURKE, ON THE MOTION 
TO SEND THE LORD MAYOR OF LONDON 
AND ALDERMAN OLIVER TO THE 
TOWER, IN 1770. 

!. Since I bad the honor, I should say, the dishonor, 
of sitting in this house, I have been witness to many 
strange, many infamous transactions. What can be 
vour intention in attacking all honor and virtue'? Do 
you mean to bring all men to a level with your¬ 
selves, and to extirpate all honor and independence? 
Perhaps you imagine, a vote will settle the whole con¬ 
troversy. Alas ! you are not aware, that the manner 
in which your vote is procured, is a secret to no man. 

2. Listen. For if you are not totally callous, if 
your consciences are not seared, I will speak daggers 
to your souls, and wake you to all the pangs of guilty 
recollection. I will follow you with whips and stings, 





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through every maze of your unexampled turpitude, and 
plant thorns under the rose of ministerial approbation. 

3. You have flagrantly violated justice, and the law 
of the land, and opened a door for anarchy and confu¬ 
sion. After assuming an arbitrary dominion over law 
and justice, you issue orders, warrants, and proclama¬ 
tions, against every opponent; and send prisoners to 
your Bastile, all those who have the courage and vir¬ 
tue to defend the freedom of their country. 

4. But it is in vain that you hope by fear and ter¬ 
ror, to extinguish the native British fire. The more 
-sacrifices—the more martyrs you make, the more nu¬ 
merous the sons of liberty will become. They will mul¬ 
tiply like the hydra, and hurl vengeance on your heads. 

5. Let others act as they will ; while 1 have a 
tongue or an arm, they shall be free. And that I may 
not be a witness of these monstrous proceedings, I wiil 
leave the house ; nor do I doubt, but every indepen¬ 
dent, every honest man, every friend to England , will 
follow me. These walls are unholy, baleful, deadly, 
while a prostitute majority holds the bolt of parliamen¬ 
tary power, and hurls its vengeance only upon the 
virtuous. To yourselves, therefore, I consign you. 
Enjoy your pandemonium . 

At the close of Mr. Burke’s speech, all the gentlemen in the op¬ 
position rose, as one man, and left the house. Mr. Burke was a 
well informed friend of freedom. He was, moreover, one of the 
greatest and best men that England ever produced. This speech 
should be recited somewhat rapidly, on rather a high key, and 
with great energy. 


MR. BURKE S REMARKS TO THE ELECTORS OF 
BRISTOL, ON THE RIGHT OF INSTRUCTING 
REPRESENTATIVES. 

I. Gentlemen :—My worthy colleague expresses 
himself, if I understand him rightly, in favor of the 
coercive authority of instructions from constituents. 
Certainly, it ought to be the happiness and glory of a 
13* 



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representative, to live in the strictest union, the closest 
correspondence, and the most unreserved communica¬ 
tion with his constituents. 

2. Their wishes ought to have great weight with 
him ; their opinion, high respect ; their business, un¬ 
remitted attention. It is his duty to sacrifice his re¬ 
pose, his pleasures, his satisfactions, to theirs ; and, 
above all, ever, and in all cases, to prefer their interest 
to his own. But his unbiassed opinipn, his mature 
judgment, his enlightened conscience, he ought not to 
sacrifice to you, to any man, or to any set of men living. 

3. These he does not derive from your pleasure : 
no, nor from the law or the constitution. They are a 
trust from Providence, for the abuse of which, he is 
deeply answerable. Your representative owes you, 
not his industry only, but his judgment; and he betrays, 
instead of serving you, if he sacrifices it to your 
opinion. 

4. The gentleman says, his will ought to be subser¬ 
vient to yours. If that be all, the thing is innocent. If 
government were a matter of will upon any side, yours, 
without question, ought to be superior. But government 
and legislation are matters of reason and judgment, and 
not of inclination; and what sort of reason is that, in 
which the determination precedes the discussion : in 
which one set of men deliberate, and another decide; 
and w r here those who form the conclusion, are, per¬ 
haps, three hundred miles distant from those who hear 
the arguments ? 

5. To deliver an opinion, is the right of all men ; 
that of constituents, is a weighty and respectable opin¬ 
ion, which a representative ought always to rejoice to 
hear, and which he ought always most seriously to con¬ 
sider. But authoritative instructions, mandates issued, 
which the member is bound blindly and implicitly to 
obey, to vote, and to argue for, though contrary to 
the clearest conviction of his judgment and conscience; 
these are things, utterly unknown to the laws of this 
land, and which arise from a fundamental mistake of 
the whole order and tenor of our constitution. 

6. Parliament is not a congress of ambassadors from 


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different and hostile interests ; which interests each 
must maintain, as an agent and advocate, against other 
agents and advocates ; but parliament is a deliberative 
assembly of one nation, with one interest, that of the 
whole, where not local purposes, not local prejudices, 
ought to guide, but the general good resulting from 
■the general reason of the whole. 

7. You choose a member indeed ; but when you 
have chosen him, he is not a member of Bristol, but 
he is a member of ■parliament. If the local constituent 
should have an interest, or should form a hasty opin¬ 
ion, evidently opposite to the real good of the rest of 
the community, the member for that place, ought to be 
as far as any other, from an endeavor to give it effect. 

8. As for the trifling petulenee which the rage of 
party stirs up in little minds, it has not made the 
slightest impression on me. The highest flight of such 
clamorous birds, is winged in an inferior region of the 
air. 

Mr. Burke’s observations on the right of constituents to instruct 
representatives, are worthy of the attention of the American peo¬ 
ple. He presents the subject to the electors of Bristol, in its true 
light. It is very desirable, that the' representative should reflect, 
as a mirror, the will of his constituents ; and yet, he should not 
bo the mere pen with which they write. Mr. Burke’s speech 
should be read or recited in an animated manner, and on a middle 
key. 


HAMLET’S SOLILOQUY ON DEATH.— 
Shakspeare. 

1. To be, or not to be 1 that is the question :— 
Whether/tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
The slinks and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 

And, by opposing, end them ?—To die,—to sleep,— 
No more ;—and, by a sleep, to say we end 
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to,—’tis a consummation 



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Devoutly to be wish’d. To die ;—to sleep ;— 

To sleep ! perchance to dream; —aye, there’s the rub; 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
When we have shuffled off' this mortal coil, 

Must give us pause. 


There’s the respect, 

That makes calamity of so long life : 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, 
The pangs of despis’d love, the law’s delay, 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 

When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin 1 


3. Who would fardels bear, 

To groan and sweat under a weary life ; 

But that the dread of something after, death,— 

The undiscover’d country, from whose bourne 
No traveller returns,—puzzles the will ; 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 

Than fly to othet'S that we know not of f 

4. Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ;— 
And thus the native hue of resolution 

Is sickbed o’er with the pale cast of thought ; 

And enterprises of great pith and moment, 

With this regard, their currents turn awry, 

And lose the name of action. 

Hamlet’s soliloquy is, as has been well observed, “ one of the 
most difficult things to read in the English language.” It requires 
nice discrimination, as well as great powers of elocution. It is 
one of Shakspeare’s most admired productions, it does not, 
however, teach us a useful moral lesson. Hamlet is dissuaded 
from committing suicide, by a coward fear of death, and a selfish 
dread of the consequences in the “ undiscovered country” beyond 
it. He ought to have been deterred from self-destruction, by con¬ 
siderations of duty to himself, his fellow-citizens, and his God. 
The doctrine of expediency, by which he was governed, is a doc¬ 
trine not of Christ. It is practical atheism. I repeat, then, that 
Hamlet ought to have been governed, not by expediency, but bv 


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principle—by Christian morality. The soliloquy can be read or 
recited well, only by those who both perfectly understand, and 
thoroughly feel, the sentiments which it contains. It should be 
commenced deliberately, on a middle key. The indignant feeling 
with which the prince enumerates particulars ; “ The oppressor’s 
wrongs,” &c., requires the voice gradually to rise on each. The 
concluding part of the soliloquy, requires quantity, and rather slow 
time. 


SPEECH OF KING RICHARD III.— Shakspeare. 

1. Give me another horse,—bind up my wounds,— 
Have mercy, Jesu !—Soft; I did but dream. 

O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me !— 
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. 

> Cold, fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 
What do I fear I myself? there’s none else by: 
Richard loves Richard : that is, I am I. 

2. Is there a murderer here ? No :—Yes ; I am : 
Then flv,—What, from myself! Great reason : 

Why ? 

Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself ? 

I love myself. Wherefore ? for any good 
That I myself have done unto myself'? 

O, no : alas, I rather hate myself, 

For hateful deeds committed by myself. 

3. I am a villain : Yet I lie, I am not. 

Fool; of thyself speak well :—Fool, do not flatter. 
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, 
And every tongue brings in a several tale. 

And every tale condemns me for a villain. 

Perjury, perjury, in the high’st degree ; 

Murder, stern murder , in the dir’st degree ; 

All several sins, all us’d in each degree, 

Throng to the bar, crying all—Guilty ! guilty ! 

4. I shall despair.—There is no creature loves me : 
And, if I die, no soul will pity me :— 



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Nay, wherefore should they! since that I myself 
Find in myself no pity to myself. 

Methought, the souls of all that I had murder’d 
Came to my tent : and every one did threat 
To-morrow’s vengeance on the head of Richard. 

This speech of king Richard is, in my opinion, not merely one 
of the most difficult pieces to read or recite in our language, but 
the most difficult. It was made on Bosworth field, when Shak- 
speare’s spectral illusions of king Richard’s murdered victims, 
called ghosts, appeared to him, the shade of each one of whom, 
pointed towards him, with a clay-cold, but unerring hand, and 
cried, in a voice which harrowed up his soul: “ Thou art my 
murderer, despair and die.” When the ghosts vanished, he 
started out of his dream, and made the above speech, in which he 
acknowledges himself to have been a villian and a murderer. His 
name is, as queen Anne predicted it would be, “ a bye word for 
tyranny.” 

His speech should be commenced abruptly, and on a high key. 
The voice should fall to a low note on the second line. The 
fifth line, *■ Cold fearful drops,” &c., requires slow time and 
quantity. The'questions which he puts to himself, require rising 
inflections; the answers he makes, falling inflections. Those 
portions of his speech in which he speaks of his crimes, require 
a high key, and great energy. 


THERE’S NOTHING TRUE BUT HEAVEN.— 
JWoore. 

1. This world is all a fleeting show, 

For man’s illusion given ; 

The smiles of joy, the tears of wo, 

Deceitful shine, deceitful flow— 

There’s nothing true but Heaven. 

2. And false the light on glory’s plume, 

As fading hues of even ; 

And love, and hope, and beauty’s bloom, 

Are blossoms gathered for the tomb_ 

There’s nothing bright but Heaven. 



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155 


3. Poor wanderers of a stormy day, 
From wave to wave we’re driven ; 
And fancy’s flash, and reason’s ray, 
Serve but to light the troubled way— 
There’s nothing calm but Heaven. 


HEAVEN.— Anonymous. 

1. This world’s not “all a fleeting show, 
For man’s illusion given”— 

He that hath sooth’d a widow’s wo, 

Or wip’d an orphan’s tear, doth know 
There’s something here of Heaven. 

2. And he that walks life’s thorny way 
With feelings calm and even, 

Whose path is lit, from day to day, 

By virtue’s bright and steady ray, 

Hath something felt of Heaven. 

3. He that the Christian’s course hath run, 
And all his foes forgiven, 

Who measures out life’s little span 

In love to God and love to man, 

On earth , hath tasted Heaven. 


RELIGION .—President Wood. 

1. While we are disposed to allow, to their full ex¬ 
tent, the pleasures of literary pursuit, and the impor¬ 
tant advantages of intellectual illumination, it must be 
confessed, that man has wants which nothing can sup¬ 
ply, and woes which no-thfng can relieve, but the san¬ 
ative influence of religion. 

2. What can moderate anger, resentment, malice, 
or revenge, like the thought that we may ask God to 




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forgive our trespasses only as we forgive the trespas¬ 
ses of others ? What can quiet murmurings at our lot, 
like that deep sense of moral demerit which the gospel 
presses on the conscience '( What can cool the burn¬ 
ings of envy, or allay the passion for renown, like a 
remembrance of the transitory nature of all human 
glory ? i 

3. What can produce resignation to the loss of 
friends, like a confident hope of meeting them soon in 
a brighter world ? What can prompt to deeds of be¬ 
nevolence, like the example of Him, who, though he 
was rich, for our sakes, became poor ? Is there any 
thing which can give steadiness to purpose, or stability 
to character, like an unwavering regard to the will of 
God? 

4. Considerations of mere worldly policy, or interest, 

* furnish no steady magnetic influence to give one uni¬ 
form direction to all the plans and actions of life. 
Patriotism may fire the spirit with valor to sustain the 
onset of an invading foe, and bare the breast to the 
rushing tide of war :—but who can meet with unruf¬ 
fled temper, the thousand petty ills that life is heir to, 
like him whose aim is heaven? 

5. What sublimity like moral sublimity, whether we 
regard the grandeur or permanency of its effects ? 
What more sublime than the triumphs of a dying Chris¬ 
tian, when, in the midst of its decaying and crumbling 
habitation, the spirit plumes itself for its lofty flight, 
and departs in the buoyancy of hope, for the regions 
of eternal day ? These are the gifts of Christianity. 

6. But it is on man, in his social capacities, and po¬ 
litical relations, that moral principle is destined to ex¬ 
ert its most important influence. It is in society, that 
man has power. It is in society, that virtue developes 
its benevolent tendencies, and that vice scatters fire¬ 
brands, arrows, and death. Has the example of vice 
wrought powerfully? so has that of virtue. Have 
many been beguiled to their destruction by the entic- 
ings of the sinful ? multitudes have been allured by the 
persuasions of the good, to fairer worlds on high.* 


FOR EXERCISES. 


157 


This extract is from Rev. Alva Wood’s discourse at his inau¬ 
guration, as President of Transylvania University, October 13th, 
1828. He succeeded Dr. Horace Holley. 


GOD’S INCOMPREHENSIBILITY.— Chalmers . 

1. While the spirituality of God’s nature places him 
beyond the reach of our direct cognizance, there are 
certain other essential properties of his nature, which 
place him beyond the reach of our possible compre¬ 
hension. Let me instance the past eternity of the 
Godhead. One might figure a futurity that never 
ceases to flow, and which has no termination ; but 
who can climb his ascending way among the obscuri¬ 
ties of that infinite which is behind him ? 

2. Who can travel in thought, along the track of 
generations gone by, till he has overtaken the eternity 
which lies in that direction \ Who can look across 
the millions of ages which have elapsed, and from an 
ulterior post of observation, look again to another, 
and another succession of centuries ; and each further 
extremity in this series of retrospects, stretch back¬ 
ward his regards on an antiquity as remote and inde¬ 
finite as ever I Could we, by any number of succes¬ 
sive strides over these mighty intervals, at length reach 
the fountain-head of duration, our spirits might be at 
rest. 

3. But to think of duration* as having no fountain¬ 
head ; to think of time, with no beginning ; to uplift 
the imagination along the heights of an antiquity,which 
hath positively no summit; to soar these upward 
steeps, till, dizzied by the altitude, we can keep no 
longer on the wing ; for the mind to make these re¬ 
peated flights from one pinnacle to another, and instead 
of scaling the mysterious elevation, to lie baffled at its 
foot, or lose itself among the far, the long-withdrawing 

' recesses of that primeval distance, which at length, 
merges away into a fathomless unknown ; this is an 
* 14 


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exercise, utterly discomfiting to the puny faculties of 
man. 

This extract is from the works of Rev. Thomas Chalmers, 
LL. D. of Edinburgh, on “ Natural Theology.” 


MISSIONARY HYMN.— Bishop Heber. 

3. From Greenland’s icy mountains, 
From India’s coral strand ; 

Where Afric’s sunny fountains 
Roll down their golden sand ; 

From many an ancient river, 

From many a palmy plain, 

They call us to deliver 
Their land from error’s chain. 

2. W T hat though the spicy breezes 
Blow soft o’er Ceylon’s isle, 

Though every prospect pleases, 

And only man is vile 'l 

In vain with lavish kindness, 

The gifts of God are strown, 

The heathen, in his blindness, 

Bows down to wood and stone . 

3. Can we, whose souls are lighted 
With wisdom from on high ; 

Can we, to men benighted, 

The lamp of life deny ? 

Salvation ! O Salvation ! 

The joyful sound proclaim, 

Till earth’s remotest nation 
Has learned Messiah’s name. 

4. Waft, waft, ye winds, his story ; 
And you, ye waters, roll, 

Till, like a sea of glory, 

It spreads from pole to pole ; 



FOR EXERCISES. 


159 


Till o’er our ransomed nature, 
The Lamb, for sinners slain, 
Redeemer, King, Creator, 

In bliss returns to reign. 


This hymn, like all other solemn pieces of poetry, requires long: 
quantity, and rather a low key. The voice should, however, be 
somewhat elevated on the words in italic, and yet not enough to 
be disagreeable to the ear. 


I LOVE TO MARK THE FALLING LEAF.— 
Anonymous. 

1. I love to mark the falling leaf, 

To watch the waning moon ; 

1 love to cherish the belief 
That all will change so soon. 

2. I love to see the beauteous flowers 
In bright succession pass, 

As they would deck life’s fleeting hours, 

And hide time’s ebbing glass. 

3. I love the rushing wind to hear 
Through the dismantled trees, 

And shed the sad but soothing tear, 

O’er joys that pass like these. 

4. I love to think this glorious earth 
Is but a splendid tomb, 

Whence man to an immortal birth, 

Shall rise in deathless bloom— 

5. That nothing on its bosom dies, 

But all in deathless change 

Shall in some brighter form arise, 

Some purer regions range. 


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6. On this fair arch, then, rest thy head 
In peace, thou child of sorrow, 

For know, the God of truth hath said, 

Thou “ shalt be changed to-morrow.” 

7. Changed as the saints and angels are, 

To glories ever new, 

Corrupt shall incorruption wear* 

And death shall life renew. 

This beautiful poetry requires a low key, slow time, and long 
quantity. 


LINES FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY.— 

Anonymous. 

1. Hail our country’s natal morn ! 

Hail our spreading kindred born ! 

Hail thou banner not yet torn ! 

Waving o’er the free ; 

2. While this day in festal throng, 

Millions swell the patriot song, 

Shall not we thy notes prolong, 

Hallowed Jubilee ? 

3. Who would sever freedom’s shrine ? 

Who would draw the invidious line! 
Though by birth one spot be mine, 

Dear is all the rest : 

4. Dear to me the South’s fair land, 

Dear the central mountain band, 

Dear New England’s rocky strand. 

Dear the prairi’d West. 

5. By our altars, pure and free, 

By our law’s deep rooted tree, 



FOR EXERCISES. 


161 


By the past dread memory, 

By our Washington ; 

G. By our common parent tongue, 

By our hopes, bright, buoyant, young, 

By the tie of country, strong, 

We will still be one. 

7. Fathers ! have ye bled in vain 1 
Ages ! must ye droop again ? 

Maker! shall we rashly stain 

Blessings sent by thee \ 

8. No ! receive our solemn vow, 

While before thy throne we bow, 

Ever to maintain as now, 

Union, Liberty. 

These truly patriotic lines are admirably suited to each returning 
anniversary of our national independence. 


ON THE DEATH OF MRS. WOLFE.— Wolfe. 

1. If I had thought thou could’st have died, 

I might not weep for thee; 

But I forgot, when by thy side, 

That thou could’st mortal be. 

2. It never through my mind had pass’d, 

That time would e’er be o’er, 

And I, on thee, should look my last, 

And thou should’st smile no more. 

3. And still upon that face I look, 

And think ’twill smile again ; 

And still the thought I will not brook, 

That I must look in vain. 

14* 



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1. But when I speak, thou dost say, 

What thou ne’er left’st unsaid, 

And now I feel, as well I may, 

Dear Mary— thou art dead t 

5. If thou would’st stay e’en as thou art. 
All cold and all serene— 

I still might press thy silent heart, 

And where thy smiles have been t 

(>, While e’en thv chill, bleak corse I have, 
Thou seemest still my own ; 

But there, I lay thee in thy grave,— 

And I am now alone! 

7. I not do think where’er thou art 
Thou hast forgotten me ; 

And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart 
In thinking, too, of thee. 

8. Yet, there was round thee such a dawn 
Of light, ne’er seen before, 

As fancy never could have drawn, 

And never can restore ! 


HOW SCHOLARS ARE MADE.— D. Webster. 

L Costly apparatus and splendid cabinets have no 
magical power to make scholars. In all circumstances, 
as a man is, under God, the master of his own fortune, 
so is he the maker of his own mind. The Creator has 
so constituted the human intellect, that it can grow 
only by its own action , and by its own action it most 
certainly^nd necessarily grows. 

*2. Every man must, therefore, in an important sense, 
educate himself. His books and teachers are but 
helps ; the work is his. A man is not educated until he 
has the ability to summon, in case of emergency, all 




FOR EXERCISES. 163 

his mental powers in vigorous exercise to effect his 
proposed object. 

3. It is not the man who has seen most, or who has 
read most, who can do this ; such an one is in danger 
of being borne down, like a beast of burden, by an 
overloaded mass of other men’s thoughts. Nor is it 
the man that can boast merely of native vigor and ca¬ 
pacity. 

4. The greatest of all the warriors that went to the 
siege of Troy, had not the pre-eminence because na¬ 
ture had given him strength, and he carried the largest 
bow, but because self-discipline had taught him how to 
bend it., 


BOOKS.— Dr. Charming. 

1. It is chiefly through books that we enjoy inter¬ 
course with superior minds, and these invaluable means 
of communication are in the reach of all. In the best 
books, great men talk to us, give us their most precious 
thoughts, and pour their souls into ours. 

2. God be thanked for books. They are the voices 
of the distant and the dead, and make us heirs of the 
spiritual life of past ages. Books are the true level¬ 
lers. They give to all who will faithfully use them, 
the society, the spiritual presence of the best and great¬ 
est of our race. 

3. No matter how poor I am, no matter though the 
prosperous of my own time will not enter my obscure 
dwelling, if the sacred writers will enter and take 
up their abode under my roof, if Milton will cross my 
threshold to sing to me of Paradise, and Shakspeare to 
open to me the worlds of imagination and the working 
of the human heart, and Franklin to enrich me with 
his practical wisdom, I shall not pine for want of intel¬ 
lectual companionship; and I may become a cultivated 
man, though excluded from what is called the best so¬ 
ciety in the place w 7 here 1 live. 




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These beautiful and excellent remarks on books, were made by 
Dr. Channing in the course of his address, introductory to the 
“ Franklin Lectures,” delivered at Boston, in 1838, on “ Self¬ 
culture.” 


ON KNOWLEDGE .—De Witt Clinton. 

1. Pleasure is a shadow, wealth is vanity, and power, 
a pageant ; but knowledge is extatic in enjoyment, 
perennial in fame, unlimited in space, and infinite in 
duration. In the performance of its sacred office, it 
fears no danger, spares no expense, omits no exertion. 

2. It scales the mountain, looks into the volcano, 
dives into the ocean, perforates the earth, wings its 
flight into the skies, encircles the globe, explores the 
sea and land, contemplates the distant, examines the 
minute, comprehends the great, ascends to the 
sublime : no place too remote for its grasp, no heavens 
too exalted for its reach. 

De Witt Clinton, son of Jame3 Clinton, a Major General in the 
revolutionary army, was born in Orange county, New York, in 
1769. He was elected Governor of his native State, in 1817. 
Being repeatedly re-elected, he was acting as our chief magistrate 
at the time he died, which was in the year 1827. His services in 
the cause of education and internal improvement, evince that he 
was a patriot and a philanthropist. 


EXTRACT FROM AN ORATION ON THE LIFE 
AND CHARACTER OF GILBERT MO TIER 
DE LAFAYETTE.— John Q. Adams. 

1. Fellow Citizens :—Ages have passed away 
since Lafayette said : “ May this immense ‘ Temple 
ot Freedom’ ever stand, a lesson to oppressors, an ex¬ 
ample to the oppressed, a sanctuary for the rights of 
mankind ! and may these happy United States attain 



FOR EXERCISES. 


165 


that complete splendor and prosperity which will 
illustrate the blessings of their government, and for 
ages to come, rejoice the departed souls of its foun¬ 
ders !” but ages are the years of the existence of 
nations. 

2. The founders of this immense “ Temple of Free¬ 
dom” have all departed, save here and there a solitary 
exception, even while I speak, at the point of taking 
wing. The prayer of Lafayette is not yet consumma¬ 
ted. Ages upon ages are still to pass away before it 
can have its full accomplishment ; and for its full ac¬ 
complishment, his spirit, hovering over our heads, in 
more than echoes, talks around these walls. 

3. It repeats the prayer which from his lips fifty years 
ago, was at once a parting blessing and a prophecy ; 
for, were it possible for the whole human race, now 
breathing the breath of life, to be assembled within this 
“Hall,” your orator would, in your name, and in that 
of your constituents, appeal to them to testify for your 
fathers of the last generation, that, so far as depended 
upon them, the blessing of Lafayette has been pro¬ 
phecy. 

4. Yes! this immense “ Temple of Freedom” still 
stands, a lesson to oppressors, an example to the op¬ 
pressed, and a sanctuary for the rights of mankind. 
Yes ! with the smiles of a benignant Providence, the 
splendor and prosperity of these happy United States 
have illustrated the blessings of their government, and, 
we may humbly hope, have rejoiced the departed souls 
of its founders. 

5. For the past, your fathers and you have been re¬ 
sponsible. The charge of the future, devolves upon 
you and your children. The vestal fire of freedom is 
in your custody ! May the souls of its departed foun¬ 
ders never be called to witness its extinction by neg¬ 
lect, nor a soil upon the purity of its keepers. 

The above beautiful and eloquent extract is from an 44 Oration 
on the life and character of Gilbert Motier De Lafayette, delivered 
at the request of both houses of the congress of the United States, 
before them, in the house of representatives, at Washington, on 
the 31st of December, 1834, by Hon. John Quincy Adams.” 


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Lafayette, who was born in France, in September, 1757, came to 
America at the early age of 19, which was soon after the adoption 
of the “ Declarationand, voluntarily joining the army of 
Washington, devoted himself, his life, and fortune, to the patriotic 
and righteous cause of North American independence. In the 
year 1785, he returned to France, where he remained about forty 
years, and then he revisited the people of the United States, by 
whom he was hailed welcome,—thrice welcome. His reception 
was cordial, glorious, and triumphant. After the expiration of a 
brief period, he again returned to France, where he continued to 
take a deep interest in the concerns of the American people, till 
the close of his life. The noble spirit of liberty which animated 
Lafayette, seems to pervade the mind of his eulogist, ex-President 
Adams. Let us all cherish it “as the immediate jewel of the 
soul,” and exclaim : 

“ Forever float the standard sheet, 

Where lives the foe but falls before us. 

With freedom's soil beneath our feet? 

And freedom’s banner waving o’er us.” 


PART OF A SPEECH OF ELISHA WILLIAMS. 

1. Gentlemen of the Jury :—In all human pro¬ 
bability this is the last time that I shall ever address a 
jury of my beloved county of Columbia. I have had 
the honor of entering this hall of justice for about forty 
years ; but prejudice and corruption never entered it 
before. Prejudice is an innocent passion, so long as 
its possessor is unconscious of its existence; but when 
he becomes conscious of the existence of prejudice, it 
becomes corruption. Every thing, gentlemen, that I 
have attempted to introduce, in the shape of testimony, 
has been clipped by the long scissors of the law. 

2. You have arraigned at your bar, a young man of 
highly respectable parentage, and interesting to all the 
circumstances connected with this important transac¬ 
tion, just bursting from the bud of infancy, and opening 
in the blossom of youth. I have not been accustomed 
to address a jury of my beloved county of Columbia, 
with trembling or fear, or under circumstances cal¬ 
culated to deter me from the discharge of my duty. 



FOR EXERCISES. 


167 


Now, as on former occasions, I see in that jury box, 
men whom I have long known, and whom I honor and 
respect. 

3. But, gentlemen, I know you to be but men, sub* 
ject to the like passions, prejudices, and frailties of our 
nature. I tremble from another cause. I have been 
accustomed to address the minds of a jury, unwarped 
by prejudice, unruffled by passion, and undisturbed by 
feeling. I know the load of prejudice which has 
weighed down my client’s hopes. Nothing has been 
left undone, which could be done to operate against 
him. The most loathsome slanders have been circu¬ 
lated in the public prints, and even the altars of our 
God have been defiled by this vile spirit of persecution. 

4. The learned counsel from New York has com¬ 
pared me to a lion, that ferocious animal of the for¬ 
est ; but, gentlemen, I rather resemble the eagle soar¬ 
ing aloft in his pride of place, and pouncing, if you 
please, upon a dove, and scattering his feathers to the 
four winds of heaven. But let me tell you, gentle¬ 
men, if eagles pounce upon no better vermin than the 
witness upon whose testimony the opposite counsel 
relies, nobody will be injured by it. 


The above extract is from the speech of the late Elisha Wil¬ 
liams, addressed to the jury upon the trial of Charles Taloo, for 
the murder of young Crandall of Kinderhook Academy. The 
court interrupted Mr. Williams several times during the course of 
his remarks. At the close of them, the court peremptorily stated, 
that he must desist in casting dishonorable and uncalled for re¬ 
flections. Mr. Williams, with perfect self-possession, and con¬ 
summate address, turned his attention to the court, and, in an 
under-tone of great force, said : “ Heaven forbid that I should 

detract from the dignity of the court. I am willing to give it all 
the credit which is due.” 

When Elisha Williams and Erastus Root were in the legisla¬ 
ture of the State of New York, there was ‘‘ a feast of reason and 
a flow of soul,” which, perhaps, has not often been the case since. 
Being politically, if not personally opposed to each other, they 
took great pleasure in endeavoring to awaken each other s ire, by 
shrewd wit and biting sarcasm. Several original and amusing 
anecdotes occurred between them, one of which is as follows: 
General Root had occasion, some twenty years ago, as a member 
of assembly from the county of Delaware, to introduce a bill, the 


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object of which was to authorise a certain number of his contitu- 
ents to sell a tract of land in Delaware county, called “ the 
Devil's half acre." Some time previously, Mr. Williams had 
purchased a quantify of land in Delaware; of which circum¬ 
stance, however, General Root thought nothing, when he rose and 
announced to the house the object and purport of the bill, and ex¬ 
pressed a hope that it would pass “ sub silentio.f i. e., without re¬ 
mark or opposition. After taking his seat for the action of the 
house, Mr. Williams of Hudson, Columbia county, rose and re¬ 
marked, “ that he hoped the gentleman from Delaware, would in¬ 
clude in the bill, all the land that the devil actually owned in Del¬ 
aware ; for,” said Mr. Williams, “ I have long been satisfied, 
that the devil owns more than half an acre in that county.” Mr. 
Williams continued, “ I want no unnecessary legislation on the 
subject, and I hope the gentleman from Delaware, will so modify 
his bill, that the whole tract will pass.” Mr, Root, in reply, said, 
“ It is true, as the gentleman from Columbia has observed, that 
the devil did formerly own more than half an acre in the county 
which I have the honor of representing; but it has been recently 
sold for the non-payment of quit-rent and taxes, and purchased by 
his satanic majesty’s agent, residing at the city of Hudson.” Mr. 
Williams was one of the most eloquent lawyers in the State of 
New York. The extract from his speech should be given with 
great power, and deep pathos. 


BYRON’S FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 

1. Fare thee well! and if for ever, 

Still for ever, fare the well : 

Even though unforgiving, never 
’Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. 

2. Would that breast were bared before thee, 
Where thy head so oft hath lain, 

While that placid sleep came o’er thee 
Which thou ne’er canst know again : 

3. Would that breast, by thee glanced over, 
Every inmost thought could show ! 

Then thou would’st at last discover 
’T was not well to spurn it so. 



FOR EXERCISES. 


169 


4. Though the world for this commend thee— 
Though it smile upon the blow, 

Even its praises must offend thee, 

Founded on another’s wo.— 

5. Though my many faults defaced me, 

Could no other arm be found 

Than the one which once embraced me, 

To inflict a cureless wound 1 

6. Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not; 

Love may sink by slow decay, 

But by sudden wrench, believe not 
Hearts can thus be torn away : 

7. Still thine own its life retaineth— 

Still must mine, though bleeding, beat, 

And the undying thought which paineth 
Is—that we no more may meet. 

8. These are words of deeper sorrow 
Than the wail above the dead; 

Both shall live, but every morrow 
Wake us from a widow’d bed. 

9. And when thou would’st solace gather, 
When our child’s first accents flow, 

Wilt thou teach her to say “Father /” 
Though his care she must forego 1 

10. When her little hands shall press thee, 
When her lip to thine is prest, 

Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee, 
Think of him thy love had bless’d! 

11. Should her lineaments resemble 
Those thou never more may’st see, 

Then thy heart will softly tremble 
With a pulse yet true to me. 

15 


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12. All my faults, perchance thou knowest, 

All my madness, none can know; 

All my hopes, where’er thou goest, 

Wither, yet with thee they go- 

13. Every feeling hath been shaken; 

Pride, which not a world could bow, 

Bows to thee—by thee forsaken, 

Even my soul forsakes me now: 

14. But’t is done—all words are idle— 

Words from me are vainer still; 

But the thoughts we cannot bridle. 

Force their way without the will. 

15. Fare thee well!—thus disunited, 

Torn from every nearer tie, 

Sear’d in heart, and lone, and blighted, 

More than this, I scarce can die. 

“ Byron’s Farewell to his Wife,” being the language of tender 
emotion, requires a plaintive manner, and a low key. 


LADY RANDOLPH’S SOLILOQUY.—tfer. Mr. Home. 

1. Ye woods and wilds, whose melancholy gloom 
Accords with my soul’s sadness, and draws forth 
The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart— 
Farewell awhile, 1 will not leave you long; 

For, in your shades, I deem some spirit dwells ; 
Who, from the phiding stream and groaning oak, 
Still hears and answers to Matilda’s moan. 

2. Oh 1 Douglass. Douglass ! if departed ghosts 
Are e’er permitted to review this world, 

Within the circle of that wood, thou art ; 

And with the passion of immortals, hear’st 
My lamentation ; hear’st thy wretched wife 
Weep for her husband slain, her infant lost. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


171 


My brother’s timeless death, I seem to mourn, 

Who perished with thee on this fatal day. 

3. To thee I lift my voice, to thee address 
The plaint which mortal ear has never heard. 

Oh ! disregard me not ; though I am called 
Another’s now, my heart is wholly thine. 

Incapable of change, affection lies 
Buried, my Douglass, in thy bloody grave. 

This “ Soliloquy of Lady Randolph,” in which she mourns the 
loss of her husband, her child, and her brother, requires a low key, 
very slow time, and long quantity. It is very pathetic, and there¬ 
fore should be given in a plaintive manner. It is taken from the 
excellent tragedy of “ Douglass,” written by Rev. John Home, who 
was born in Roxburyshire, in 1724, fcnd died near Edinburgh, in 
1808. 


SPEECH OF LOGAN A MINGO CHIEF, TO LORD 

DUNMORE, GOVERNOR OF VIRGINIA—1774. 

1. I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he en¬ 
tered Logan’s cabin hungry, and he gave him no meat; 
if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him 
not. During the course of the last long and bloody 
war, Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate 
for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my 
countrymen pointed as they passed, and said : “ Logan 
is the friend of the white men.” 

2. I had even thought to have lived with you, but 
for the injuries of one man. Colonel Cresap, last spring, 
in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the rela¬ 
tions of Logan, not even sparing my women and chil¬ 
dren. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins 
of any living creature. This called on me for revenge. 
1 have sought it : I have killed many : I have fully 
glutted my vengeance. 

3. For my country, I rejoice at the beams of peace ; 
but do not harbor a thought, that mine is the joy of 
fear. Lo^an never felt fear. He will not turn on hi* 



172 


FOR EXERCISES. 


heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Lo¬ 
gan? Notone. 


SONG OF THE GERMAN SOLDIERS AFTER 
VICTORY.— Mrs. Hemans. 

Single Voice. 

1. It is the Rhine ! our mountain vineyards laving ; I 
I see the bright flood shine ; 

Sing on the march with every banner waving, 

Sing, brothers ! ’tis the Rhine ! 

Chorus. 

2. The Rhine, the Rhine ! our own imperial river ! 
Be glory on thy track ! 

We left thy shores, to die or to deliver ; 

We bear thee freedom back. 

Single Voice. 

3. Hail! hail! my childhood knew thy rush of water, 
Even as a mother’s song ; 

That sound went past me on the field of slaughter, 
And heart and arm grew strong. 

Chorus. 

4. Roll proudly on ! brave blood is with thee swcep- 

i 

Poured out by sons of thine, 

When sword and spirit forth in joy were leaping. 
Like thee, victorious Rhine ! 

Single Voice. 

5. Home! home! thy glad wave hath a tone of 

greeting,— 

Thy path is by my home : 

Even now, my children count the hours, till meeting, 
O ransomed ones, 1 come ! 



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173 ‘ 


Choi'us. 

6. Go, tell the seas that chain shall bind thee never ; 

Sound on, by hearth and shrine ; 

Sing through the hills, that thou art free forever ; 

Lift up thy voice, O Rhine ! 

The German soldiers were two days passing over the river, at 
the first gleam of which, they all burst forth into the national 
chant, Am Rhein! Am Rhein! and the rocks and the castle were 
ringing to the song the whole time ; for, while crossing, each band 
renewed it; and the Cossacks, with the clash, and the clang, and 
the roil of their stormy war-music, catching the enthusiasm of 
the scene, swelled forth the chorus, Am Rhein! Am Rhein! 
This song, especially the chorus, is admirably adapted to the pur¬ 
poses of simultaneous reading or recitation! both for ladies and 
gentlemen. 


THE DEFENCE OF SOCRATES BEFORE HIS 
JUDGES. 

1. I chiefly marvel, O ye judges ! that Melitus should 
have asserted that I, diligently applying myself to the 
contemplation and practice of whatever is virtuous, 
‘ corrupt the youth —and, indeed, we well know what 
it is to corrupt them. But show us, if in your power, 
whom, of pious, I have made impious ; of modest, 
shameless ; of frugal, profuse. Who from temperate 
is become drunken ; from laborious, idle, or effeminate, 
by associating with me 'l Or, where is the man who 
has been enslaved, by my means, to any vicious pleas¬ 
ure whatever ? 

2. How could it escape being regarded even by you, 
Melitus, as a thing deserving the highest admiration, 
that while in every other instance, the man who excels 
in any employment, is supposed not only entitled to a 
common regard, but receives many, and those very 
distinguishing marks of honor ; I, on the contrary, am 
persecuted even to death, because I am thought by ma¬ 
ny to have excelled in that employment which is the 
most noble, and which hath for its aim the greatest 

15* 



i 74 


FOR EXERCISES. 


good to mankind ; by instructing our youth in the 
knowledge of their duty, and planting in the mind each 
virtuous principle ! 

3. It is necessary, O ye judges ! that all those who 
instructed the witnesses to bear, by perjury, false tes¬ 
timony against me, as well as all those who too readily 
obeyed their instructions, should be conscious to them¬ 
selves of much impiety and injustice ; but that /, in 
any wise, should be more troubled and cast down than 
before my condemnation, I see not, since I stand here 
unconvicted of any of the crimes whereof I was accu¬ 
sed, for no one hath proved against me, that I sacri¬ 
ficed to any new deity, or even made mention of the 
names of any other than Jupiter, Juno, and the rest of 
the deities, which, together with these, our city holds 
sacred ; neither have they once shown what were the 
means I made use of to corrupt the youth, at the very 
time I was inuring them to a life of patience and fru- 
gality. 

4. As for those crimes to which our laws have an¬ 
nexed death as the only proper punishment: sacrilege, 
man-stealing, undermining of walls, or betraying of the 
city,—my enemies do not even say that any of these 
things were ever once practised by me. Wherefore I 
the rather marvel that ye have now judged me worthy 
to die. 

5. But it is not for me to be troubled on that account; 
for, if I die unjustly, the shame must be theirs who 
put me unjustly to death ; since if injustice is shame¬ 
ful, so likewise every act of it ; but no disgrace can 
it bring on me, that others have not seen that I was 
innocent. 

6. I am persuaded that I shall have the attestation of 
the time to come, as well as of that which is past al¬ 
ready, that I never wronged any man, or made him 
more depraved ; but, contrarywise, have steadily en¬ 
deavored throughout life, to benefit those who conver¬ 
sed with me ; teaching them, to the very utmost of my 
power, and that, too, without reward, whatever could 
make them wise and happy. 

Socrates, who was the greatest and best philosopher of all an- 


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175 


tiquity, was born in Greece 467 years before Christ, and was cru¬ 
elly put to death by the Athenians, at the age of 67. They char¬ 
ged him with atheism and with endeavoring to corrupt the youth. 
He was not guilty. If, however, he had been an unbeliever in their 
deities, it would have been no crime. Every human being has a 
perfect right to form, cherish, and express his opinions on all sub¬ 
jects ; and it is rank intolerance which converts opinions into 
crimes. Socrates doubtless paid great reverence to the gods ; and 
so far from being a corrupter of youth, he reclaimed many from 
vice, by practising and recommending all the virtues which can 
adorn human character. Believing that the soul is immortal and 
incorruptible, and that guod men, like himself, would be happy be¬ 
yond the grave, Socrates was willing and even desirous to ex¬ 
change worlds. The illustrious philosopher cheerfully drank the 
poison, and died without a struggle or a groan. Let us all adopt 
his motto : Esse quarn videri, i. e., be rather than seem, for, as Soc¬ 
rates used to say : “ The only way to true glory is, for a man to 
be really excellent, not affect to appear so.” The defence of 
Socrates should be read in an animated manner. 


PART OF THE BURIAL SERVICE. 

1. I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord ; 
lie that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall 
he live ; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, 
shall never die. I know that my Redeemer liveth and 
that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth ; 
and though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh 
shall l see God. 

2. Behold, thou hast made my days, as it were, a 
span long ; and my age is even as nothing in respect 
of thee ; and verily every man living is altogether 
vanity ; for man walketh in a vain shadow, and dis- 
quieteth himself in vain ; he heapeth up riches, and 
cannot tell who shall gather them. 

3. A thousand years in thy sight are but as yester¬ 
day, seeing that is past as a watch in the night. As 
soon as thou scatterest them, they are even as asleep ; 
and fade away suddenly like the grass. In the morning 
it is green and groweth up ; but in the evening it is 
cut down, dried up, and withered. 



176 


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4. We consume away in thy displeasure ; and are 
afraid at thy wrathful indignation ; for when thou art 
angry, all our days are gone, and we bring our years 
to an end, as it were a tale that is told. So teach us 
to number our days, that we may apply our hearts un¬ 
to wisdom. 

5. Now is Christ risen from the dead, and become 
the first fruits of them that slept; for since by man 
came death, by man came also the resurrection of the 
dead. As in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all 
be made alive. 

6. But some man will say: “How are the dead 
raised up ? and with what body do they come V 1 Thou 
fool, that which thou sowest is not quickened except it 
die ; and that which thou sowest, thou sowest not that 
body that shall be, but bare grain, it may chance of 
wheat, or of some other grain ; but God giveth it a 
body, as it hath pleased Him ; and to every seed his 
own body. 

So, also, is the resurrection of the dead : it is sown 
in corruption ; it is raised in incorruption : it is sown 
in dishonor ; it is raised in glory : it is sown in weak¬ 
ness ; it is raised in power : it is sown a natural body ; 
it is raised a spiritual body. Now this I say, brethren, 
that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God ; 
neither doth corruption inherit incorruption. 

8. Behold, I show you a mysten\ We shall not 
all sleep ; but we shall all be changed in a moment, in 
the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump : for the 
trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised in¬ 
corruptible, and we shall be changed ; 

9. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, 
and this mortal must put on immortality. So when 
this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this 
mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be 
brought to pass the saying that is written : “Death 
is swallowed up in victory.” O death! where is thy 
sting 1 O grave ! where is thy victory ? 

10. The sting of death is sin ; and the strength of 
sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who giveth us 
the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. 


SELECT PIECES 


177 

I lie “ Burial Service'’ is eloquent beyond description. It should 
be read or recited on rather a low key, with slow time, and long 
quantity. 6 


THE DREAM OF CLARENCE.— Shakspeare, 

Brakenbury. Why looks your grace so heavily 
to-day ? 

Clarence, O, I have passed a miserable night, 

So full of fearlul dreams, of ugly sights, 

That, as I am a Christian faithful man, 

1 would not spend another such a night, 

Though ’twere to buy a world of happy days, 

So full of dismal terror was the time. 

Brak. What was your dream my lord 1 
I pray you tell me. 

Clar. Methought that I had broken from the tower, 
And was embarked to cross to Burgundy ; 

And in my company, my brother Gloster ; 

Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
Upon the hatches : thence we looked toward Eng¬ 
land, 

And cited up a thousand heavy times, 

During the wars of York and Lancaster, 

That had befallen us,—as we paced along 
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 

Methought that Gloster stumbled ; and in falling, 
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard 
Into the tumbling billows of the main, 

O Lord ! methought what pain it was to drown ! 
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! 

What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! 
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks, 

A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon, 

Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 



178 


FOR EXERCISES. 


Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels. 

All scattered in the bottom of the sea. 

Some lay in dead men’s skulls ; and in those holes 
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, 

(As ’twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, 

That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep, 

And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by. 

Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death, 
To gaze upon these secrets of the deep 1 

Clar. Methought I had ; and often did I strive 
To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood- 
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
To seek the empty, va>t, and wandering air ; 

But smothered it within my panting bulk, 

Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 

Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony 1 

Clar. O no, my dream was lengthened after life ; 
O, then began the tempest to my soul ; 

I passed, methought, the melancholy flood, 

With that grim ferryman which poets write of, 

Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 

The first that there did greet my stranger soul, 
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, 
Who cried aloud : “ What scourge for perjury 
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence 
And so he vanished ;—then came wandering by 
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
Dabbled in blood; and he shrieked out aloud : 
tk - Clarence is come ,— false, fleeting, PERJURED 
Clarence 

That stabbed me in the field of Tewksbury ; 

Seize on him , furies , take him to your torments ! >y 
With that, methought a legion of foul fiends 
Environed me, and howled in mine cars 
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, 

I trembling waked ; and for a season after, 

Could not believe but that I was in hell; 


SELECT PIECES 


179 


Such terrible impression made my dream. 

Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you ; 

I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. 

Clar . O, Brakenbury, I have done these things, 
That now give evidence against my soul, 

For Edward’s sake ; and see how he requites me 1 
I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me ; 
iYJy soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. 

Brak. I will, my lord. 

[Clarence reposes himself on a chair.] 
Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, 

Makes the night morning, and the noontide night. 
Princes have but their titles for their glories, 

An outward honor for an inward toil ; 

And, for unfelt imaginations, 

They often feel a world of restless cares : 

So that between their titles and low name, 

There’s nothing differs but the outward fame. 

This dialogue, in which Clarence relates to Brakenbury his sub¬ 
lime and terrible dream, occurs in Shnkspeare’s tragedy of King 
Richard III. It is one of the hest things in our language, for a 
rhetorical exercise. The phrases in italic should be given with 
great power, and those in small capitals on a still higher key. 


SCENE BETWEEN VIRGINIUS AND LUCIUS. 
— Knowles. 

Lucius. ’Tis well you’re found, Virginius ! 

Virginius. What makes you from the city \ look ! 
My Lucius, what a sight you’re come to witness. 

My brave old comrade, honest Siccius ! 

Siccius Dentatus, that true son of Rome, 

On whose white locks the mother looked more proudly 
Than on the raven ones of her youngest and 



180 


FOR EXERCISES. 


Most hopeful sons, is nothing but this, 

The sign and token of himself! Look, comrades, 
Here are the foes have slain him—not a trace 
Of any other—not a body stripp’d— 

Our father has been murdered. We’ll revenge him 

Like sons ! Take up the body ! Bear it to 

The camp ; and as you move your solemn march, 

Be dumb—or, if you speak, be it but a word ; 

And be that word—Revenge ! 

Luc. Virginius! 

Vir. I did not mind thee, Lucius ! 

Uncommon things make common things forgot. 

Hast thou a message for me, Lucius 1 Well! 

I’ll stay and hear it, but be brief; my heart 
Follows poor Dentatus. 

Luc. You are wanted 
In Rome. 

Vir. On what account \ 

Luc. On your arrival 
You’ll learn. 

Vir. How ! is it something can’t be told 
At once 1 Speak out, boy ! Ha ! your looks are loaded 
With matter—Is’t so heavy that your tongue 
Cannot unburden them 'l Your brother left 
The camp on duty yesterday—hath aught 
Happened to him ! Did he arrive in safety 1 
Is he safe 1 Is he well 1 

Luc. He is both safe and well. 

Vir. What then I What then ? Tell me the matter, 
Lucius. 

Luc. I have said 
It shall be told you. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


181 


Vir. Shall! I stay not for 
That shall, unless it be so close at hand 
It stop me not a moment. ’Tis too long 
A coming. Fare you well, my Lucius. [Going.] 

Luc. Stay, 

Virginias. Hear me then with patience. 

Vir. Well, [Returns."\ 

I am patient. 

Luc. Your Virginia— 

Vir. Stop my Lucius ! 

1 am cold in every member of my frame ! 

It ’tis prophetic, Lucius, of thy news, 

Give me such token as her tomb would, Lucius, 

I’ll bear it better. Silence. 

Luc. You are still— 

Vir. I thank thee, Jupiter! 1 am still a father! 
Luc. You are, Virginius, yet. 

Vir. What, is she sick ? 

Luc . No. 

Vir. Neither dead nor sick! All well! No harm ! 
Nothing amiss ! Each guarded quarter safe, 

That fear may lay him down and sleep, and yet 
This sounding the alarm! I swear thou tell’st 
A story strangely.—Out with’t! I have patience 
For any thing, since my Virginia lives, 

And lives in health ! 

Luc . You are required in Home, 

To answer a most novel suit. 

Vir . Whose suit ? 

10 


182 


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Luc . The suit of Claudius! 

Vir. Claudius! 

Luc. Him that’s client 
To Appius Claudius, the Decemvir. 

Vir. What! 

That pander ! Ha ! Virginia ! you appear 
To couple them. What makes my fair Virginia 
In company with Claudius? Innocence 
Beside laciviousness ! His suit! What suit ? 
Answer me quickly ! Quickly! lest suspense. 
Beyond what patience can endure, coercing 
Drive reason from his seat! 

Luc. He has claimed Virginia. 

Vir. Claimed her! Claimed her! 

On what pretence ? 

Luc. He says she is the child 
Of a slave of his, who sold her to thy wife. 

Vir. Go on ;—you see I’m calm. 

Luc. He seized her in 

The school and dragged her to the Forum, where 
Appius was giving judgment. 

Vir. Dragg’d her to 

The Forum! Well? I told you, Lucius, 

I would be patient. 

Luc. Numitorius there confronted him ! 

Vir. Did he not strike him dead ? 

True, true, I know it was in the presence of 
The Decemvir—O ! had I confronted him ! 

Well! well! the issue—Well! o’erleap all else, 


FOR EXERCISES. 


183 


And light upon the issue ! Where is she 1 

Luc* I was dispatched to fetch thee, ere I could 
learn. 

Vir, The claim of Claudius—Appius’ client—Ha ! 

I see the master-cloud—this ragged one, 

That lowers before, moves only in subservience 
To the ascendant of the other—Jove, 

With its own mischief break it and disperse it, 

And that be all the ruin ! Patience ! Prudence ! 
Nay, prudence, but no patience. Come ! a slave 
Dragged through the streets in open day ! my child! 
My daughter ! my fair daughter, in the eyes 
Of Rome! O ! I’ll be patient. Come 1 the essence 
Of my best blood in the free common ear, 

Condemned as vile ! O ! I’ll be patient. Come ! 

O they shall wonder. I will be so patient. 

The “ Tragedy of Virginius,” from which this dialogue is taken, 
and of which James Sheridan Knowles is the author, is founded 
on historical facts. We learn from “ Furguson’s Rome,” that 
“ Appius Claudius, one of the usurpers, being captivated with the 
beauty of Virginia, the child of an honorable family, and already 
betrothed to a person of her own condition, endeavored to make 
himself master of her person, by depriving her at once of her pa¬ 
rentage and of her liberty. For this purpose, under pretence that 
she had been born in servitude, and that she had been stolen away 
in her infancy, he suborned a person to claim her as his slave. 
The Decemvir himself being judge in this iniquitous suit, gave 
judgment against the helpless party, and ordered her to be remo¬ 
ved to the house of the person by whom she was claimed. In this 
affecting scene, the father, under pretence of bidding a last fare¬ 
well to his child, came forward to embrace her; and, in the pre¬ 
sence of the multitude, having then no other means to preserve 
her honor, he availed himself of the prerogative of a Roman fa¬ 
ther, and stabbed her to the heart with a knife. The indignation 
which arose from this piteous sight, re-established a patrician ad¬ 
ministration.” 

The above dialogue furnishes an excellent exercise in elocution. 


184 


SELECT PIECES 


SCENE FROM VIZ ARRO.—Kotzebue. 

PIZARRO AND GOMEZ. 

Pizarro. How now, Gomez, what bringest thou T 

Gomez. On yonder hill, among the palm trees, we 
have surprised an old Peruvian. Escape by flight, he 
could not, and we seized him unresisting. 

Piz. Drag him before us. [Gomez leads in Oro - 
zembo .] 

, What art thou, stranger 1 

Orozembo. First tell me who is the captain of this 
band of robbers. 

Piz. Audacious ! This insolence hast sealed thy 
doom. Die thou shalt, gray-headed ruffian. But first 
confess what thou knowest. 

Oro. I know that of which thou has just assured 
me, that I shall die. 

Piz. Less audacity might have saved thy life. 

Oro. My life is as a withered tree, not worth pre¬ 
serving. 

Piz. Hear me, old man. Even now we march 
against the Peruvian army. We know there is a se¬ 
cret path that leads to your strong hold among the 
rocks. Guide us to that, and name thy reward. If 
wealth be thy wish- 

Oro. Ha, ha, ha! 

Piz. Dost thou despise my offer ? 

Oro. Yes; thee and thy offer! Wealth! I have 
the wealth of two gallant sons. I have stored in hea¬ 
ven, the riches which repay good actions here ! and 
still my chiefest treasure do I wear about me. 

Piz. What is that! Inform me. 

Oro. I will; for thou canst never tear it from me. 
An unsullied conscience. 

Piz. I believe there is no other Peruvian who dares 
speak as thou dost. 

Oro. Would I could believe there is no other 
Spaniard who dares act as thou dost. 



FOR EXERCISES. 185 

Gom. Obdurate pagan! how numerous is your 
army ? 

Oro. Count the leaves of the forest. 

Gom. Which is tho weakest part of your camp ? 

Oro. It is fortified on all sides by justice. 

Gom. Where have you concealed your wives and 
children ? 

Oro. In the hearts of their husbands and fathers. 

Piz. Knowest thou Alonzo I 

Oro. Know him ! Alonzo ! Our nation’s benefac¬ 
tor, the guardian angel of Peru 1 

Piz. By what has he merited that title 1 

Oro. By not resembling thee. 

Piz. Who is this Holla, joined with Alonzo in com¬ 
mand 1 

Oro. I will answer that; for I love to speak the 
hero’s name. Rolla, the kinsman of the king, is the 
idol of our army. In war, a tiger ; in peace, a lamb. 
Cora was once betrothed to him, but finding she pre¬ 
ferred Alonzo, he resigned his claim for Cora’s happi¬ 
ness, 

Piz. Romantic savage! I shall meet this Rolla soon. 

Oro. Thou hadst better not! The terrors of his 
noble eye would strike thee dead. 

Gom. Silence, or tremble ! 

Oro. Beardless robber ! I never yet have trembled 
before man —Why before thee , thou less than man! 

Gom. Another word, audacious heathen, and I 
strike ! 

Oro. Strike, Christian ! then boast among thy fel¬ 
lows: “ I too have murdered a Peruvian.” 


SECOND SCENE.— Sentinel. 


ROLLA AND ALONZO. 

[ Ent^r Rolla, disguised as a monk.] 

Rolla. Inform me, friend, is Alonzo, the Peruvian, 
confined in this dungeon ? 

16 * 


186 


SELECT PIECES' 


Sentinel. He is. 

Rolla. I must speak with him. 

Sent. You must not. 

Rolla. He is my friend. 

Sent. Not if he were your brother. 

Rolla. What is to be his fate X 

Sent. He dies at sunrise. 

Rolla. Ha! then I am come in time. 

Sent. Just to witness his death. 

Rolla. [Advancing towards the door.] Soldier^—I 
must speak with him. 

Sent. [Pushing him back with his gun.] Back ! 
Back ! it is impossible. 

Rolla. I do entreat you, but for one moment. 

Sent. You entreat in vain—my orders are most 
strict. 

Rolla. Look on this wedge of massive gold ! Look 
on these precious gems'. In thy land they will be 
wealth for thee and thine, beyond thy hope or wish. 
Take them ; they are thine ; let me but pass one mo¬ 
ment with Alonzo. 

Sent. Away ! Wouldst thou corrupt me X Me * 
an old Castilian !—I know my duty better. 

Rolla. Soldier! hast thou a wife ? 

Sent. I have. 

Rolla. Hast thou children 1 

Sent. Four honest, lively boys. 

Rolla. Where didst thou leave them X 

Sent. In my native village, jn the very cot where I 
was born. 

Rolla. Dost thou love thy wife and children X 

Sent. Do I love them ! God knows my heart,—I 
do. 

Rolla. Soldier ! imagine thou wert doomed to die 
a cruel death in a strange land—what would be thy 
last request X 

Sent. That some of my comrades should carry my 
dying blessing to my wife and children. 

Rolla. What if that comrade were at thy prison 
door,, and should there be told, thy fellow soldier dies 
at sunrise, yet thou shalt not for a moment see him, 


FOR EXERCISES. 


187 


nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor chil¬ 
dren, or his wretched wife,—what wouldst thou think 
of him who thus could drive thy comrade from the 
door 1 

Sent. How 1 

Rolla. Alonzo has a wife and child ; and I am 
come but to receive for her, and for her poor babe, the 
last blessing of my friend. 

Sent. Go in. [Exit Sentinel.'] 

Rolla. [Calls.] Alonzo! Alonzo! 

[Enter Alonzo, speaking as he comes in.] 

Alonzo. How! is my hour elapsed? Well, I am 
.ready. 

Rolla. Alonzo-know me ! 

Alon. Rolla ! O Rolla ! how didst thou pass the 
guard? 

Rolla. There is not a moment to be lost in words. 
This disguise 1 tore from the dead body of a friar as I 
passed our field of battle. It has gained me entrance 
to thy dungeon ; now take it thou, and fly. 

Alon. And Rolla- 

Rolla. Will remain here in thy place. 

Alon. And die for me ! No ! rather erternal tor¬ 
tures rack me. 

Rolla. I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pi- 
zaro seeks, not Rolla 1 s ; and thy arm may soon deliver 
me from prison. Or, should it be otherwise, I am as 
a blighted tree in the desert; nothing lives beneath 
my shelter. Thou art a husband and a father; the 
being of a lovely wife and helpless infant depends 
upon thy life. Go ! go ! Alonzo, not to save thyself, 
but Cora and thy child. 

Alon. Urge me not thus, my friend,—I am pre¬ 
pared to die in peace. 

Rolla. To die in peace ! devoting her you have 
sworn to live for, to madness, misery, and death ! 

Alon. Merciful heavens! 

Rolla. If thou art yet irresolute, Alonzo—now, 
mark me well. Thou knowest that Rolla never 
pledged his word and shrunk from its fulfilment. 
Know then, if thou art proudly obstinate, thou shalt 





SELECT PIECES 


188 

have the desperate triumph of seeing Rolla perish by 
thy side. 

Mon. O Rolla ! you distract me ! Wear you the 
robe, and though dreadful the necessity, we will strike 
down the guard and force our passage. 

Rolla . What! the soldier on duty here 1 

Mon . Yes ; else, seeing two, the alarm will be in¬ 
stant death. 

Rolla. For my nation’s safety, I would not harm 
him. That soldier, mark me, is a man ! All are not 
men that wear the human form. He refused my 
'prayers, refused my gold , denying to admit—till his 
own feelings bribed him. I will not risk a hair of 
that man’s head, to save my heart-strings from con¬ 
suming fire. But haste ! A moment’s farther pause,, 
and all is lost. 

Mon. Rolla, I fear thy friendship drives me from 
honor and from right. 

Rolla. Did Rolla ever counsel dishonor to his 
friend ? [Throwing the friar’s garment over his shoul¬ 
ders .] There ! conceal thy face. Now God be with 
thee. 

This interesting Dialogue is taken from Kotzebue’s “ Pizarro.” 
Kotzebue was born at Weimar, in 1761, and was assassinated in 
1819, by Sandt, a fanatical student of Jena. In the scene between 
Rolla and the sentinel, ‘‘ the voice of nature speaks.” Rolla ap¬ 
peals successfully to the feelings of the sentinel, not by gold, but 
by the power of irresistible eloquence. It is true, as Rolla says, 
that “ all are not men, that wear the human form,” that is to say, 
some men are destitute of those feelings of humanity which per¬ 
vaded the bosom of the ‘ { soldier.” He was truly and emphati¬ 
cally a man , for admitting Rolla, and so was Rolla, for solemnly 
pledging himself not to see injured “ a hair of that man’s head.” 
The dialogue, being throughout highly rhetorical, constitutes a 
very good elocutionary exercise. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


189 


A STREET DIALOGUE ON DIET BETWEEN 
CATO AND CUFFEE. 

Cuffee. Wy Cato, wat you got in your basket, wat 
you goin to do wid dem are quash and muttin chop I 

Cato. Wy Cuffee, wat a fool question you ax r I’m 
going to eat em to be sure. 

Cuffee. Eat em, my gosh, Cato, you sartainly die, 
sartin as vou eat dem are nassy quash and odos muttin 
chop. ' 

Cato. You tink so Cuffee 1 

Cuffee. 1 tink so, I no tink nofin about it, I know so, 
I hab de proof all around me, twenty lebin my ac¬ 
quaintance die sence de color come, and dey all widout 
deception, die wid eating one ting or anoder, wat tink 
you ob dat hay I 

Cato. Dat be bery alarmin, I must say, Cuffee, but 
are you sure any ob em die wid eating de quash and de 
muttin chop l 

Cuffee. Are I sure, wy, how long will you spute 
my word, I tell you dere was Sambo Cesar, wat keep 
a witling house down cellar, he eat a hearty meal ob 
pork an taters, an nex day, he underneve potifer’s field. 
Den dare was Dina JPhillisy, a trong hearty wench as 
ever walk on two leg ; she eat a hearty meal of green 
peas and tuckle-fash, and in less than tree hour, she 
turn blue in de face, and nex day foller arter Sambo 
Cesar. Den moreober dare was eber so many ob em 
die wid eating dis ting, dat ting, and toder ting, I tell 
you dat unless you pay more tention to your diup, you 
sartinly die sure as you lib !! 

Cato. Wat mus I eat den Cuffee I 

Cuffee. Eatl wy de safest way is to eat noffin at 
all, den you no spose yourself. 


This dialogue is said to have occurred during the prevalence of 
the cholera in the summer of 1832, between two colored persons 
whQ accidentally met in one of the principal streets in the city of 
New York, one of whom had some squash and mutton in his bas- 


190 


SELECT PIECES 


ket. Cuffee, alarmed for the safety of his brother Cato, not onl^r 
cautions him to abstain from the use of “ quash and muttin chop,” 
but advises him “ to eat nothing at all”! 


SCENE BETWEEN CAPTAIN BERTRAM AND 
JACK BOWLIN.— Dunlap. 

Bowlin. Good day to your honor. 

Captain. Good day, honest Jack. 

Bowl. To day is my Captain’s birth-day., 

Capt. I know it. 

Bowl. I am heartily glad on the occasion. 

Capt. I know that too. 

Bowl. Yesterday your honor broke your sea-foam 
pipe. 

Capt. Well, sir booby, and why must I be put in 
mind of it ? it was stupid enough to be sure, but hark 
ye, Jack, all men at times do stupid actions, but I never 
met with one who liked to be reminded of them. 

Botvl. I meant no harm your honor. It was only 
a kind of introduction to what I was going to say. I 
have been buying this pipe-head and ebony-tube, and 
if the thing is not too bad, and my captain will take 
such a present on his birth-day, for the sake of poor 
old Jack— 

Capt. Is that what you would be at—comb, le’ts 
see. 

Bowl. To be sure, it is not sea-foam ; but my cap¬ 
tain must think, when he looks at it, that the love of 
old Jack was not mere foam neither. 

Capt. Give it here, my honest fellow. 

Bowl. You will take it? 

Capt. To be sure I will. 

Bowl. And will smoke it ? 

Capt. That I will. [Feeling in his pocket .] 

Bowl. And will not think of giving me any thing 
in return ? 

Capt. [ Withdrawing his hand from his pocket.] No, 
no—you are right. 



FOR EXERCISES. 


191 


Bowl . Huzza ! now let mother Grimkin bake her 
almond cakes out of her daily pilferings, and be hanged* 

Capt. Fie, Jack! what’s-that you say 1 ? 

Bowl. The truth. I have just come from the kitch¬ 
en, where she is making a great palaver about “ her 
cake” and “ her cake,’’ and yet this morning she must 
be put in mind that it was her master’s birth-day. 
Hang me, I have thought of nothing else this month. 

Capt. And because you have better memory, you 
must blame the poor woman. Shame on you. 

Bowl. Please your honor, she is an old— 

Capt. Avast ! 

Bowl. Yesterday, she made your wine cordial of 
sour beer, so to-day she makes you an almond cake of— 

Capt. Hold your tongue, sir. 

Bowl. A’nt you obliged to beg the necessaries of 
life, as if she were a pope or an admiral 1 and last 
year when you was bled, though she had lain up chest 
full upon chest full of linen, and all yours if the truth 
was known, yet no bandage was found till I tore the 
spare canvass from my Sunday shirt to rig your hon¬ 
or's arm. 

Capt. You are a scandalous fellow ; [ throwing the 
pipe hack to him,'] away with you and your pipe. 

Bowl. [Looking attentively at his master and the 

pipe.] I am a scandalous fellow ? 

Capt. Yes, 

Bowl. Your honor will not have the pipe 1 

Capt. No ; I will take nothing from him who 
would raise his own character at the expense of an¬ 
other old servant. [Jack takes up the pipe and throws 
it out of the window.] What are you doing l 

Bowl. Throwing the pipe out of the window. 

Capt. Are you mad l 

Bowl. Why, what should I do with it? You will 
not have it, and it is impossible for me to use it, for as 
often as I should puff away the smoke, I should think : 
“Old Jack Bowlin, what a pitiful scamp you must be, 
a man, whom you have served honestly and truly these 
thirty years, and who must know you from stem to 
stern, says you are a scandalous fellow.” and the 


192 


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thought would make me weep like a child. But when 
the pipe is gone, I shall try to forget the whole busi¬ 
ness, and say to myself, my poor old Captain is sick, 
and does not mean what he said.” 

Capt. Jack come here. [ Takes his hand.] I did 
not mean what I said. 

Bowl [Shakes his hand heartily .] I knew it, I 
knew it. 1 have you and your honor at heart, and 
when I see such an old hypocritical bell-weather, cheat¬ 
ing you out of your hard earned wages, it makes my 
blood boil— 

Capt. Are you at it again ? Shame on you. You 
have opened your heart to-day, and given me a peep 
into its lowest hold. 

Bowl. So much the better! for you will then see 
that my ballast is love and truth to my master. But 
hark ye, master, it is certainly worth your w T hile to in¬ 
quire into the business. 

Capt. And hark ye, fellow, if I find ye have told 
me a lie, I’ll have no mercy on you. I’ll turn you out 
of doors to starve in the street. 

Bowl. No, Captain, you won’t do that. 

Capt. I tell you I will, though. I will do it. And 
if you say another word I’ll do it now. 

Bowl. Well, then away goes old Jack to the hospital. 

Capt. What’s that you say ? hospital ? hospital 
you rascal! what will you do there ? 

Bowl. Die. 

Capt. And so you will go and die in a hospital, will 
you ? Why—why—you lubber, do you think I can’t 
take care of you after I have turned you out of doors, 
hey? 

Bowl. Yes, I dare say you would be willing to pay 
my board, and take care that I did not want in my old 
days, but I would sooner beg than pick up money so 
thrown at me. 

Capt. Rather beg ! there’s a proud rascal. 

Bowl. He that don’t love me must not give me mo¬ 
ney. 

Capt. Do you hear that? Is not this enough to 
give a sound man the gout. You sulky fellow, do you 


FOR EXERCISES. 


193 


recollect twenty years ago, when we fell into the 
clutches of the Algerines ? The pirates stripped me of 
my last jacket, but you. you lubber, who was it that 
hid two pieces of gold in his hair ? and who was it that 
half a year afterwards, when we were ransomed and 
turned naked on the world, shared his money and his 
clothes with me ? Hey, fellow, and now you would 
die in a hospital! 

Bowl. Nay, but Captain— 

Capt . And when my ship’s crew mutinied ; at the 
risk of his life he disclosed the plot. Have you for¬ 
gotten it, you lubber ? 

Bowl. Well, and did’nt you build my old mother a 
house for it ? 

Capt. And when we had boarded the French pri¬ 
vateer, and the captain’s hanger hung over my head, 
did’nt you strike off the arm that was going to split my 
skull ? Have you forgot that too? Have I built yon 
a house for that ? Will you die in a hospital now, you 
ungrateful dog ! hey ? 

Bowl. My good old master— 

Capt. Would you have it set on my tomb-stone : 
“ Here lies an unthankful hound who let his preserver 
and mess-mate die in a hospital/’ would you? Tell 
me, this minute, you will live and die by me, you lub¬ 
ber ! Come here and give me your hand 1 

Bowl. [Going towards him.) My noble master— 

Capt, Avast ! stand off! take care of my lame 
leg ; yet I had rather you should hurt that than my 
heart, my old boy. [Shakes his hand heartily.) Now 
go and bring me the pipe. Stop, let me lean on yon, 
and I will go down and get it myself, and use it on my 
birth day. You would die in a hospital, would you? 
you unfeeling lubber! 

The above humorous dialogue is from Dunlap’s play, called 
“Fraternal Discord.” Captain Bertram had the gout, to which 
he alludes where he speaks of his lameness. 

17 


194 


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ALEXANDER THE GREAT AND A ROBBER. 

— Dr. Aikin, 

Alexander. What! art thou the Thracian robber, 
of whose exploits I have heard so much ? 

Robber. I am a Thracian, and a soldier. 

Alex. A soldier ! a thief, a plunderer, an assassin ! 
the pest of the country ! I could honor thy courage, 
but I detest and must punish thy crimes. 

Rob. What have I done, of which you can com¬ 
plain ? 

Alex. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority, 
violated the public peace, and passed thy life in injur¬ 
ing the persons and property of thy fellow subjects ? 

Rob. Alexander! I am your captive ; I must hear 
what you please to say, and endure what you please to 
inflict. But my soul is unconquered; and if I reply at 
all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free man. 

Alex. Speek freely. Far be it from me to take the 
advantage of my power, to silence those with whom I 
deign to converse. 

Rob. I must then answer your question by another: 
How have you passed your life ? 

Alex. Like a hero. Ask Fame and she will tell 
you. Among the brave, I have been the bravest; 
among sovereigns, the noblest; among conquerors, the 
mightiest. 

Rob. And does not Fame speak of me too? Was 
there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band ? 
Was there ever—but I scorn to boast. You yourself 
know that I have not been easily subdued. 

Alex. Still, what are you but a robber ; a base, 
dishonest robber? 

Rob. And what is a conqueror? Have not you, 
too, gone about the earth like an evil genius, blasting 
the fair fruits of peace and industry; plundering, rav¬ 
aging, killing, without law, without justice, merely to 
gratify an insatiable lust for dominion ? All that I 
have done to a single district, with a hundred followers, 



FOR EXERCISES. 


195 


you have done to whole nations, with a hundred thou¬ 
sand. If I have stripped individuals, you have ruined 
kings and princes. If I have burnt a few hamlets, you 
have desolated the most flourishing kingdoms and cities 
of the earth. What is, then, the difference, but that as 
you were born a king, and I a private man, you have 
been able to become a mightier robber than I ? 

Alex. But, if I have taken like a king, I have given 
like a king. If I have subverted empires, I have foun¬ 
ded greater. I have cherished arts, commerce, and 
philosophy. 

Rob. I, too, have freely given to the poor what I 
took from the rich. I have established order and dis¬ 
cipline among the most ferocious of mankind, and have 
stretched out my protecting arm over the oppressed. 
I know, indeed, little of the philosophy you talk of; 
but I believe neither you nor I shall ever atone to the 
world, for half the mischief we have done in it. 

Alex. Leave me. Take off his chains, and use 
him well. Are we, then, so much alike ? Alexander 
like a robber! Let me reflect. 

Alexander the Great, son of Philip, king of Macedon, was 
born at Pella, 365 years before Christ, and died in the 33d year of 
his age. Alexander deprived millions of their possessions,—in 
other words, he was one of the greatest robbers t hat ever scourged 
mankind. The only difference, in a moral point of view, between 
him and the robber, in the dialogue, is, that he was a much greater 
one. Well might the robber say : “ What have I done, of which 
you can complain?” The robber's meaning is : “I know that 
other men may justly reproach me for my vile deeds ; but what 
have I done, of which such a blood-thirsty tyrant as you , can com¬ 
plain V* Alexander is said to have conquered the world, and to 
have been buried in a gold coffin ! 


PRINCE HENRY AND FALSTAFF.— 
Shakspeare. 

Prince Henry. Welcome, Jack ! Where hast thou 
been 1 



196 


FOR EXERCISES. 


Falstaff. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a ven¬ 
geance too ! marry, and amen! Give me a cup of 
sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, I’ll sew nether- 
socks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague 
of all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is 
there no virtue extant] [He drinks.] You rogue, 
here’s lime in this sack too. There is nothing but 
roguery to be found in villainous man. Yet a coward 
is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it ; a villain¬ 
ous coward ! Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou 
wilt: if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon 
the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. 
There live not three good men unhanged in England;, 
and one of them is fat, and grows old. Heaven help 
the while ! a bad world, I say. A plague of all cow¬ 
ards, I say still. 

P. Hen. How now, wool-sack \ what mutter you I 

Fal. A king’s son ! If I do not beat thee out of 
thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy 
subjects afore thee, like a flock of wild geese, I’ll never 
wear hair on my face more ! you Prince of Wales ! 

P. Hen. Why, what’s the matter I 

Fal. Are you not a coward I answer me that. 

P. Hen. If ye call me coward, I’ll stab thee. 

Fal. I call thee coward ! I’ll see thee hanged ere 
I’ll call thee coward ; but I would give a thousand 
pound, I could run as fast as thou canst. You’re 
straight enough in the shoulders ; you care not who 
sees your back. Call you that backing of your friends ] 
A plague upon such backing! Give me them that wili 
face me. Give me a cup of sack ; I am a rogue, if I 
drunk to-day. 

P . Hen. O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped since 
thou drank’st last. 

Fal. All’s one for that. [He drinks.] A plague 
of all cowards, still say I. 

P. Hen. What’s the matter ? 

Fal. What’s the matter! here be four of us have 
ta’en a thousand pound this morning. 

P. Hen. Where is it! Jack, where is it ? 


SELECT PIECES 197 

Fal. Where is it ? taken from us, it is : a hundred 
upon four of us. 

P. Hen . What! a hundred, man ? 

Fal. I am a rogue, if f were not at half-sword with 
a dozen of them two hours together. I have escaped 
by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the dou¬ 
blet ; four, through the hose ; my buckler cut through 
and through ; my sword hacked like a hand-saw. I 
never dealt better since I was a man : all would not 
do. A plague of all cowards ! 

P. Hen. What! fought you with them all ? 

Fal. All! I know not what ye call all ; but if I 
fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish; 
if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old 
Jack, then I am no two-legged creature. 

P. Hen. Pray Heaven, you have not murdered 
some of them ! 

Fal. Nay, that’s past praying for. I have peppered 
two of them ; two, I am sure, I have paid ; two 
rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal,—if I 
tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou 
knowest my old ward ; here I lay, and thus I bore my 
point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me,- 

P. Hen. What, four 1 ? thou saidst but two, even 
now. 

Fal. Four, Hal; I told thee four. These four 
came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made no 
more ado, but took all their seven points in my target, 
thus. 

P. Hen. Seven ! why they were but four, even 
now. 

Fal. In buckram ? 

P. Hen. Aye, four, in buckram suits. 

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. 
Dost thou hear me, Hal 1 

P. Hen. Aye, and mark thee too, Jack. 

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These 
nine in buckram, that I told thee of,- 

P. Hen. So, two more already. 

Fal. Their points being broken, began to give me 
ground ; but I followed me close, came in foot and 
17* 



J98 


FOR EXERCISES. 


hand ; and, with a thought, seven of the eleven I 
paid. 

P. Hen. O monstrous ! eleven buckram men grown 
out of two! 

Fal. But, as Satan would have it, three mis-begot- 
ten knaves, in Kendal-green, came at my back, and let 
drive at me ; for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst 
not see thy hand. 

P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets 
them ; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, 
thou clay-brained heap ; thy knotty-pated fool- 

Fal. What! art thou mad ? art thou mad \ is not 
the truth, the truth 1 

P. Hen. Why, how couldst thou know these 
men in Kendal-green, when it was so dark thou couldst 
not see thy hand I Come, tell us your reason ; what 
sayest thou to this 1 Come, your reason, Jack, your 
reason. 

Fal. What! upon compulsion 1 No; were I at 
the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would 
not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on 
compulsion ! If reasons were as plenty as blackberries, 
I would give no man a reason upon compulsion. 

P. Hen. Til be no longer guilty of this sin. 
This sanguine coward, this horse-back breaker, this 
huge hill of flesh- 

Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf skin, you dried 
neat’s tongue, you stock-fish! O, for breath to utter 
what is like thee ! 

P. Hen. Well, breathe a while, and then to it 
again ; and, when thou hast tired thyself in base com¬ 
parisons, hear me speak but this : Poins and I saw you 
four set on four ; you bound them, and were masters 
of their wealth : mark now, how a plain tale shall put 
you down. Then did we two set on you four, and, 
with a word, out-faced you from your prize, and have 
it; yea, and can shew it you here in the house. And, 
Falstaff, you carried yourself away as nimbly, with 
as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still 
ran and roared, as ever I heard a calf. What 
a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast done, 




SELECT PIECES 


199 


and then say, it was in fight t What trick, what de¬ 
vice, what starting-hole canst thou now find out, to 
hide thee from this open and apparent shame 1 

Fal. Ha ! ha ! ha! Dy’e think I did not know you! 
I knew you as well as he that made you. Why, hear 
ye, my master, was it for me to kill the heir apparent? 
Should I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou 
knowest, I am as valiant as Hercules ; but beware of 
instinct ; the lion will not touch the true prince ; in¬ 
stinct is a great matter. I was a coward on instinct, 
I grant you: and I shall think the better of myself and 
thee during my life ; I for a valiant lion, and thou for 
a true prince. But 1 am glad you have the money. 
Let us clap to the doors ; watch to-night, pray to-mor¬ 
row. What, shall we be merry ? shall we have a 
play extempore ? 

P. Hen. Content! and the argument shall be, thy 
running away. 

Fal . Ah! no more of that, Hal, an* thoulovest me. 

Falstaff, although corrupt, had power to please ; he waa a cow¬ 
ard and a boaster. By turning vice into laughter, he led astray 
king Henry. 


A SCENE FROM WILLIAM TELL.— Knowles. 

Gesler, the tyrant; Sarnem, his officer; and Wm. 
Tell, a Swiss peasant. 

Sarnern. Down, slave, upon thy knees before the 
Governor, 

And beg for mercy. 

Gesler. Does he hear ? 

Sar . He does, but braves thy power. 

{To Tell.) Down, slave, 

And ask for life. 


200 SELECT PIECES 

Ges. (To Tell.) Why speakest thou not \ 

Tell For wonder. 

Ges. Wonder? 

Tell. Yes, that thou should’st seem a man. 

Ges. What should I seem ? 

Tell. A monster. 

Ges. Ha! Beware! think on thy chains. 

Tell. Though they were doubled, and did weigh me 
down, 

Prostrate to earth, methinks I could rise up 
Erect, with nothing but the honest pride 
Of telling thee, usurper, to thy teeth, 

Thou art a monster. Think on my chains ! 

How came they on me ? 

Ges. Darest thou question me ? 

Tell. Darest thou answer ? 

Ges. Beware my vengeance. 

Tell. Can it more than kill ? 

Ges. And is not that enough 1 

Tell. No, not enough : 

It cannot take away the grace of life ; 

The comeliness of look that virtue gives— 

Its port erect, with consciousness of truth— 

Its rich attire of honorable deeds— 

Its fair report that’s rife on good men’s tongues : 

It cannot lay its hand on these, no more 
Than it can pluck his brightness from the sun, 

Or with polluted finger tarnish it. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


201 


Ges . But it can make thee writhe. 

Tell. It may, and I may say. 

Go on, though it should make me groan again. 

Ges. Whence comest thou T 

Tell. From the mountains. 

Ges. Can’st thou tell me any news from them ? 

Tell. Ay, they watch no more the avalanche. 

Ges. Why so ? 

Tell. Because they look for thee. The hurricane 
Comes unawares upon them ; from its bed 
The torrent breaks, and finds them in its track. 

Ges. What then ? 

Tell. They thank kind Providence it is not thou. 
Thou hast perverted nature in them. The earth 
Presents her fruits to them, and is not thanked. 

The harvest sun is constant, and they scarce 
Return his smile. Their flocks and herds increase, 
And they look on as men who count a loss. 

There’s not a blessing Heaven vouchsafes them, but 
The thought of thee doth wither to a curse, 

As something they must lose,, and had far better 
Lack. 

Ges. ’Tis well. I’d have them as their hills 
That never smile, though wanton summer tempt 
Them e’er so much. 

Tell. But they do sometimes smile. 

Ges. Ah ! when is that 1 

Tell. When they do pray for vengeance. 


202 


SELECT PIECES 


Ges. Dare they pray for that 1 

Tell. They dare, and they expect it too. 

Ges . From whence 'l 

Tell From Heaven, and their true hearts. 

Ges. (To Sarnem.) Lead in his son. Now will I 
take 

Exquisite vengeance. (To Tell as the hoy enters.) I 
have destined him. 

To die along with thee. 

Tell. To die ? for what 1 he’s but a child. 

Ges. He’s thine, however. 

Tell. He is an only child. 

Ges. So much the easier to crush the race. 

Tell. He may have a mother. 

Ges. So the viper hath ; 

And yet who spares it for the mother’s sake 1 

Tell. I talk to stone. I'll talk to it no more. 

Come, my boy, I taught thee how to live, 

I’ll teach thee how to die. 

Ges. But first, I’d see thee make 
A trial of thy skill, with that same bow. 

Thy arrows never miss, ’tis said. 

Tell. What is the trial 1 

Ges. Thou look’st upon thy boy, as though thou 
guessedst it. 

Tell. Look upon my boy ! What mean you ? 


FOR EXERCISES. 


203 


Look upon my boy, as though I guessed it!— 

Guess the trial thoud’st have me make ! 

Guessed it instinctively ! Thou dost not mean— 

No, no—Thou would’stnot have me make 
A trial of my skill upon my child! 

Impossible! 1 do not guess thy meaning. 

Ges. I’d see thee hit an apple on his head, 

Three hundred paces off. 

Tell . Great Heaven ! 

Ges. On this condition only, will I spare 
His life and thine. 

Tell. Ferocious monster! make a father murder 
his own child ! 

Ges. Dost thou consent 'l 

Tell. With his own hand ! 

The hand I’ve led him when an infant, by ! 

My hands are free from blood, and have no gust 
For it, that they should drink my child's. 

I’ll not murder my boy, for Gesler. 

Boy. You will not hit me, father. You’ll be sure 
To hit the apple. Will you not save me, father ? 

Tell . Lead me forth—I’ll make the trial. 

Boy. Father— 

Tell. Speak not to me ;— 

Let me not hear thy voice. Thou must be dumb ; 
And so should all things be—Earth should be dumb ; 
And Heaven, unless its thunder muttered at 
The deed, and sent a bolt to stop it. 

Give me my bow and quiver. 

Ges. When all is ready, Sarnem, measure hence 
The distance—three hundred paces. 


204 


SELECT PIECES 


Tell. Will he do it fairly I 

Ges. What is’t to thee, fairly or not] 

Tell. (Sarcastically .) O, nothing, a little thing, 

A very little thing, I only shoot 

At my child ! [Sarnem prepares to measure .] 

Villain, stop ! you measure against the sun. 

Ges. And what of that I 
What matter whether to or from the sun I 

Tell. Pd have it at my back. The sun should shine 
Upon the mark, and not on him that shoots ; 

I will not shoot against the sun. 

Ges. Give him his way. 

[Sarnem paces and goes out.] 

Tell. I should like*to see the apple I must hit. 

Ges. [Picks out the smallest one.) There, take that. 

Tell. You’ve picked the smallest one. 

Ges. I know I have. Thy skill will be 
The greater if thou hittest it. 

Tell. (Sarcastically .) True—true ! I did not think 
of that. 

I wonder I did not think of that. A larger one 
Had given me a chance to save my boy. 

Give me my bow. Let me see my quiver. 

Ges. [To an attendant.] Give him a single arrow. 

[Tell looks at the arrow, and breaks it.] 

Tell. Let me see my quiver. It is not 
One arrow in a dozen I would use 
To shoot with at a dove, much less, a dove 
Like that. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


205 


Ges. Show him the quiver. 

[Sarnem returns , and takes the apple and the hoy to 
place them. While this is doing , Tell conceals an ar¬ 
row under his garment. He then selects another arrow.} 

Tell. Is the boy ready 1 Keep silence now, 

For Heaven’s sake ; and be my witnesses, 

That if his life’s in peril from my hand, 

Tis only for the chance of saving it. 

For mercy’s sake keep motionless and silent 

[He aims and shoots in the direction of the hoy. in a 
moment Sarnem enters with the apple on the arrow 7 * 
point.] 

Sar. The boy is safe. 

Tell. [Raising his arms.] Thank Heaven ! 

he raises his arms y the concealed arrow falls.] 

Ges. [Picking it up.] Unequalled archer ! Why 
was this concealed 1 

Tell. To kill thee , tyrant, had I slain my boy. 

Gesler, the Austrian Governor, ordered homage to be paid to his 
hat. Wm. Tell, of Switzerland, for refusing thus to degrade 
himself, was compelled by the tyrant to shoot an arrow at an ap¬ 
ple, placed on his own son’s head, or else suffer, with his child, in¬ 
stant death. Fortunately, he hit the apple. He ought to have 
killed the tyrant, rather than run the risk of shooting his son ; that 
is, if he could. 


206 


SELECT PIECES 


EXTRACT FROM DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 

— Shiel. 

DAMON, LUCULLUS, PROCLES, AND PYTHIAS. 

[Damon alone.] 

Damon. Philistius, then, is president at last, 

And Dionysius has o’er-swayed it I Well, 

It is what I expected :—there is now 
No public virtue left in Syracuse. 

What should be hoped from a degenerate, 
Corrupted, and voluptuous populace, 

When highly born and meanly-minded nobles 
Would barter freedom for a great man’s feast, 

And sell their country for a smile ? The stream, 
With a more sure, eternal tendency, 

Seeks not the ocean, than a sensual race 
Their own devouring slavery. I am sick 
At my inmost heart, of every thing I see 
And hear !—Oh Syracuse, 1 am at last, 

Forced to despair of thee ! And yet, thou art 
My land of birth,—thou art my country still ; 

And like an unkind mother, thou has left 
The claims of holiest nature in my heart, 

And I must sorrow for-not hate thee ! 

[tS/ioute.] Ha! 
What shouts are these? ’Tis from the citadel 
The uproar is descending. [Enter Lucullus.] 

Speak, Lucullus, what has befallen ? 

Lucullus. Have you heard the news ? 

Da. What news ? 

Luc. As through the streets I passed, the people 
Said that the citadel was in the hands 
Of Dionysius. 


Da. The citadel 


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207 


In Dionysius’ hands 1 What dost thou tell me 1 
How,—wherefore,—when I In Dionysius’ hands ! 
The traitor Dionysius ! Speak, Lucullus, 

And quickly. 

Luc. It was said, that by rude force, 

Heading a troop of soldiers, he has taken 

Possession of the citadel, and seized 

The arms and treasure in’t. [Exit.] 

Da. I am thunder stricken ! 

The citadel assaulted, and the armory 
in that fierce soldier’s power ! Again ! 

By all 

The gods on high Olympus, I behold 

His standard waving over it,—and they come, 

His most notorious satellites, high heaped 
With arms and plunder! Parricidal slaves, 

What have ye done ? 

[Enter Erodes and Soldiers.] 

Soldiers. For Dionysius ! Ho ! 

For Dionysius ! 

Da. Silence !—Obstreperous traitors ! 

Your throats offend the quiet of the city ; 

And thou, who standest foremost of these knaves, 
Stand back, and answer me,—a senator ; 

What have you done 1 

Erodes. But that I know ’twill gall thee, 

Thou poor and talking pedant of the school 
Of dull Pythagoras, I’d let thee make 
Conjecture from thy senses. But, in hope 
’T will stir thy solemn anger, learn from me, 

We have taken possession of the citadel, 

And- 

Da. Patience, ye good gods! a moment’s pa¬ 
tience, 

That these too ready hands may not enforce 



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The desperate precept of my rising heart— 

Thou most contemptible and meanest tool 
That ever tyrants used ! 

Proc. Do you hear him, soldiers ? 

First, for thy coward railings at myself, 

And since thou hast called our Dionysius tyrant. 
Here, in the open streets of Syracuse, 

I brand thee for a liar and a traitor! 

Da. Audacious slave ! 

Proc. Upon him, soldiers,— 

Hew him to pieces ! 

[Enter Pythias , as they rush upon Damon.] 
Pythias. Back, on your lives ! 

Cowards, treacherous cowards, back! I say! 

Do you know me % Look upon me : Do you know 
This honest sword I brandish ? You have seen it 
Among the ranks of Carthage ; would you now 
Taste its shrewd coldness in your quaking selves ? 
Back ! back ! I say. He hath his armor on. 

I am his sword, shield, helm ; I but enclose 
Myself, and my own heart, and heart’s blood, when 
I thus stand before him. 

Da. False hearted cravens! 

We are but two—my Pythias, my halved heart— 
My Pythias and myself *; but dare come on, 

Ye hirelings of a tyrant! dare advance 
A foot, or raise an arm, or bend a bow, 

And ye shall learn what two such arms can do 
Amongst a thousand of ye. My good friend, 

The gods have sent thee to me. Who had deemed 
To find thee here from Agrigentum? 

[Soldiers advance.] 

Pyth. Off! off! villains, off! 

Why, Procles,—art thou not ashamed—for I 
1 have seen thee do good work in battle time— 


FOR EXERCISES. 


209 


Art not ashamed, here on a single man 
To rush in coward numbers ? Fie upon thee ! 

I took thee for a soldier. 

Proc. For thy sake, 

Who art a warrior like ourselves, we spare him. 

T was a good star of his that led thee hither 
From Agrigentum, to lift up thine arm 
In the defence of that long robe of peace, 

Wherein he wraps his stern philosophy. 

Come, teach him better manners. Soldiers, on,— 
Let us to Dionysius. [Exit Procles and Soldiers.] 

Pyth. (To Ddmon.) Art thou safe 
From these infuriate stabbers I 

Da. Thanks to thee, 

I am safe, my gallant soldier and fast friend : 

My better genius sent thee to my side, 

When I did think thee far from Syracuse. 

Pyth. I have won leave to spend some interval 
From the fierce war, and come to Syracuse, 

With purpose to espouse the fair Calanthe. 

The gods have led me hither, since I come 
In time to rescue thee. 

How grew this rude broil up ? 

Da. Things go on here 
Most execrably, Pythias. But you are come 
To be a husband, are you not 1 

Pyth. To-morrow, T call the fair Calanthe, wife. 

Da. Then, Pythias, 

I will not shade the prospect of your joys 
With any griefs of mine. I cry you mercy— 
These are experiments too over-nice 
For one that has a mistress, and would wed her 
With an uncut throat. I have wished myself, 

That to the blessed retreats of private life 
IS* 


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My lot had been awarded ; every hour 
Makes one more sick and weary with the sense 
Of this same hopeless service of a State, 

Where there is not of virtue left 
To feed the darings of our liberty. 

But, my soldier, 

I will not make thee a participant 
In my most sad forebodings. Pythias, 

I say ’t were better to be the Persian’s slave, 

And let him tread upon thee when he would 

Ascend his horse’s back, than-yet not so 

I am too much galled and fretted to pronounce 
A sober judgment, and the very mask 
Of freedom is yet better than the bold, 

Uncovered front of tyranny.—Farewell! 

Dionysius, king of Sicily, was a tyrant. He reigned over the 
island of Sicily 40 years, and died 366 years before Christ. One 
great reason why he was unhappy in the midst of all the treasures 
and honors, with which royalty furnished him, arises from the 
consideration, that he was a stranger to that purity of motive 
which created the disinterested and undying friendship that sub¬ 
sisted between Damon and Pythias. The tyrant believed that 
self-interest is the sole mover of human actions, until he was 
taught better by witnessing this example of sacred and immortal 
friendship. 


ISABELLA, PLEADING BEFORE ANGELO, LORD 
DEPUTY OF VIENNA, FOR THE LIFE OF 
HER CONDEMNED BROTHER, 
CLAUDIO.— Shakspeare. 

ANGELO, ISABELLA, AND LUCIO. 

Isabella . I am a woful sutor to your honor; 

Please but your honor hear me. 

Angelo . Well; what’s your suit I 

Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor, 




FOR EXERCISES. 


211 


And most desire should meet the blow of justice, 

For which I would not plead, but that I must ; 

For which I must not plead, but that I am 
At war, ’twixt will, and will not. 

Ang. Well, the matter, the matter ? 

Isab. I have a brother is condem’d to die : 

I do beseech you, let it be his fault. 

And not my brother. 

Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it! 
Why, every fault’s condemn’d, ere it be done : 

Mine were the very cypher of a fraction, 

To find the faults, whose fine stands in record, 

And let go by the actor. 

Isab. O just, but severe law ! 

I had a brother then. Heaven keep your honor ! 

[Retiring.] 

Lucio. [To Isabella.'] Give’t not o’er so : to him 
again, entreat him ; 

Kneel down before him ; hang upon his gown ; 

You are too cold : if you should need a pin, 

You could not with more tame a tongue desire it : 

To him, I say. 

Isab. [To Angelo.] Must he needs die ? 

Ang. Maiden, no remedy. 

Isab. Yes ; I do think that you might pardon him, 
And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. 

Ang . I will not do’t. 

Isab. But can you, if you would 1 

Ang . Look ; what I will not, that I cannot do. 


SELECT PIECES 


212 

Isab. But might you do’t, and do the world no 
wrong, 

If so, your heart were touched with that remorse 
As mine is to him 1 

Ang. He’s sentenced ; ’tis too late. 

Isab. Too late 1 why, no ; I, that do speak a 
word, 

May call it back again. Well, believe this, 

No ceremony that to great ones ’longs, 

Not the king’s crown, nor the deputed sword, 

The marshal’s truncheons, nor the judge’s robe, 
Become them with half so good a grace, 

As mercy does. If he had been as you, 

And you as he, you would have slipt like him ; 

But he, like you, would not have been so stern. 

Ang. Pray you, begone. 

Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency* 

And you were Isabel! should it then be thus I 
No ; I would tell what ’twere to be a judge, 

And what a prisoner. 

Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law. 

And you but waste your words. 

Isab. Alas ! alas! 

Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once 
And He that might the ’vantage best have took. 
Found out the remedy. How would you be, 

If He, who is the top of judgment, should 
But judge you as you are \ O, think on that; 

And mercy then will breathe within your lips, 

Like man new made. 

Ang. Be you content, fair maid ; 

It is the law, not I, condemns your brother : 

Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, 

It should be thus with him. He must die to-moirow. 


FOR EXERCISES. 213 

Isab. To-morrow 1 O, that’s sudden ! Spare him, 
spare him : 

He’s not prepared for death ! Even for our kit¬ 
chens 

We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven 
With less respect than we do minister 
To our gross selves'? Good, good my lord, bethink 
y°u, 

Who is it that hath died for this offence 1 
There’s many have committed it. 

Jlng. The law hath not been dead, though it hath 
slept: 

Those many had not dar’d to do that evil, 

If the first man that did the edict infringe, 

Had answer’d for his deed : now, ’tis awake ; 

Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet, 
Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils 
Are now to have no successive degrees; 

But, where they live, to end. 

Isab. Yet show some pity. 

Jlng . I show it most of all, when I show justice ; 
For then I pity those I do not know, 

Which a dismissed offence would after gall ; 

And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong, 
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ; 

Your brother dies to-morrow : be content. 

Isab. So you must be the first that gives this sen¬ 
tence : 

And he, that suffers. O, it is excellent 
To have a giant’s strength; but it is tyrannous 
To use it like a giant. 

Could great men thunder 

As Jove himself does, Jove would never be quiet; 

For every pelting, petty officer 

Would use his heaven for thunder ; nothing but thun¬ 
der.— 

Merciful heaven! 






214 


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Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, 
Split’st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, 

Than the soft myrtle : O, but man, proud man ! 
Drest in a little brief authority, 

Most ignorant of what he’s most assured, 

Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 

As make the angels weep : who, with our spleens, 
Would all themselves laugh mortal. 

We cannot weigh our brother with ourself : 

Great men may jest with saints : ’tis wit in them ; 
But, in less, foul profanation. 

That in the captain’s but a choleric word, 

Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 

Jing. Why do you put these sayings upon me 1 

Isab. Because authority, though it err like others, 
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, 

That skims the vice o 1 the top. Go to your bosom ; 
Knock there ; and ask your heart, what it doth know 
That’s like my brother’s fault: if it confess 
A natural guiltiness, such as is his, 

Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue,. 

Against my brother’s life. 

Jing. She speaks, and ’tis 

Such sense, that my sense breeds with it.—Fare you 
well. 

Isab. Gentle, my lord, turn back. 

Jlng. I will bethink me. Come again to-morrow., 

Isab. Hark, how I’ll bribe you ! Good, my lord, 
turn back. 

Jlng. How ! bribe me 1 

Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share 
with you, 

Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, 


FOR EXERCISES. 


215 


Or stones, Whose rates are either rich or poor, 

As fancy values them ; but with true prayers, 

That shall be up in heaven, and enter there, 

Ere sunrise ; prayers from preserved souls, 

Prom fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate 
To nothing temporal. 

Jlng. Well, come to me 
To-morrow. 

Isab. Heaven keep your honor safe. 

Jlng . Amen : for I [Aside] 

Am that way going to temptation, 

Where prayers cross. 

Isab. At what hour to-morrow, 

Shall I attend your lordship 1 

Ang. At any time ’fore noon. 

Isab . Save your honor, f Exit Isabella and Lucio.] 

Ang. From thee! even from thy virtue !— 
What’s this ? what’s this 1 Is this her fault or mine t 
The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most! Ha ! 
Not she ; nor doth she tempt: but it is I. 

Can it be, 

That modesty may more betray our sense 

Than woman’s lightness? Having waste ground enough, 

Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary ; 

And pitch our evils there ? O, fie ! fie ! fie ! 

What dost thou ? or what art thou, Angelo ? 

O, let her brother live : 

Thieves, for their robbery, have authority, 

When judges steal themselves. What? do I lovelier, 
That I desire to hear her speak again, 

And feast upon her eyes ? What is’t I dream on ? 

O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, 

With saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dangerous 
Is that temptation, that doth-goad us on 


SELECT PIECES 


216 

To sin in loving virtue* This virtuous maid 
Subdues me quite. Ever, tiil now, 

When men were fond, I smil’d, and wondered how. 


MUTUAL UPBRAIDINGS OF EDWARD AND 
WARWICK.— Franklin, 

Edward . Let me have no intruders ; above all, 
Keep Warwick from my sight—- 

[ Enter Warwick .] 

Warwick . Behold him here ; 

No welcome guest, it seems, unless I ask 
My lord of Suffolk’s leave—there was a time 
When Warwick wanted not his aid to gain 
Admission here. 

Edw. There was a time, perhaps, 

When Warwick more desired, and more deserved it* 

War . Never. I’ve been a foolish, faithful slave ; 
All my best years, the morning of my life, 

Hath been devoted to your service ; what 
Are now the fruits I Disgrace and infamy ; 

My spotless name, which never yet the breath 
Of calumny had tainted, made the mock 
For foreign fools to carp at,—but ’tis fit, 

Who trust in princes should be thus rewarded. 

Edw. I thought my lord I had full well repaid 
Your services with honors, wealth, and power 
Unlimited,—thy all-directing hand 
Guided in secret every latent wheel 
Of government, and moved the whole machine : 

Warwick was all in all, and powerless Edward 
Stood like a cypher in the great account. 

War. Who gave that cypher worth, and seated thee 



FOR EXERCISES. 


217 


On England’s throne 1 Thy undistinguished name 
Had rotted in the dust from whence it sprang, 

And mouldered in oblivion—had not Warwick 
Dug from its sordid mine the useless ore, 

And stamped it with a diadem. Thou knowest 
This wretched country,—doomed perhaps like Rome, 
To fall by its own self-destroying hand, 

Tost for so many years in the rough sea 
Of civil discord, but for me had perished. 

In that distressful hour, I seized the helm, 

Bade the rough waves subside in peace, and steered 
Your shattered vessel safe into the harbor. 

You may despise, perhaps, that useless aid 
Which you no longer want; but know, proud youth, 
He who forgets a friend, deserves a foe. 

Edw . Know too, reproach for benefits received, 
Pays every debt, and cancels obligation. 

War. Why, that indeed is frugal honesty, 

A thrifty, saving knowledge,—when the debt 
Grows burdensome, and cannot be discharged, 

A sponge will wipe out all, and cost you nothing. 

Edw . When you have counted o’er the numerous 
train 

Of mighty gifts your bounty lavished on me, 

You may remernber next the injuries 

Which I have done you,—let me know them all, 

And I will make you ample satisfaction. 

War. Thou canst not ; thou hast robbed me of a 
jewel 

It is not in thy power to restore ; 

I was the first, shall future annals say, 

That broke the sacred bond of public trust 
And mutual confidence ; ambassadors, 

In after times, mere instruments, perhaps, 

Of venal statesmen, shall recal my name 
To witness that they want not an example, 

And plead my guilt to sanctify their own. 


218 


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Amidst the herd of mercenary slaves 
That haunt your court, could none be found but War¬ 
wick, 

To be the shameless herald of a lie % 

Edw. And would’st thou turn the vile reproach on 
me ? 

If I have broke my faith, and stained the name 
Of England, thank thy own pernicious counsels 
That urged me to it, and extorted from me 
A cold consent to what my heart abhorred. 

War. I’ve been abused, insulted , and betrayed : > 
My injured honor cries aloud for vengeance. 

Her wounds will never close !' 

Edw. These gusts of passion 
Will but inflame them,—if I have been right 
Informed, my lord, besides these dangerous scars 
Of bleeding honor, you have other wounds 
As deep, though not so fatal :—such, perhaps, 

As none but fair Elizabeth can cure. 

War. Elizabeth! 

Edw. Nay, start not,—I have cause 
To wonder most ;—1 little thought indeed, 

When Warwick told me I might learn to love, 

He was himself so able to instruct me ; 

But I’ve discovered all— 

War. And so have I ; 

Too well I know thy breach of friendship there, 

Thy fruitless, base endeavors to supplant me. 

Edw. I scorn it. Sir,--Elizabeth hath charms, 

And I have equal right with you to admire them ; 1 
Nor see I aught so godlike in the form, 

So all commanding in the name of Warwick, 

That he alone should revel in the charms 
Of beauty, and monopolize perfection. 

I knew not of your love. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


219 


War. ’Tis false! 

You knew it all, and meanly took occasion, 

Whilst I was busied in the noble office 
Your grace thought fit to honor me withal, 

To tamper with a weak, unguarded woman, 

To bribe her passions high, and basely steal 
A treasure which your kingdom could not purchase. 

Edw. How know you that 1 —but be it as it may, 

I had a right, nor will I tamely yield 
My claim to happiness, the privilege 
To choose the partne/ of my throne and bed : 

It is a branch of my prerogative. 

War. Prerogative !--What’s that 1 the boast of ty • 
rants; 

A borrowed jewel, glittering in the crown 
With specious lusture, lentjbut to betray. 

You had it, Sir, and hold it from the people. 

Edw. And therefore do I prize it,—I would guard 
Their liberties, and they shall strengthen mine ; 

But when proud faction and her rebel crew 
Insult their sovereign, trample on his laws, 

And bid defiance to his power, the people, 

In justice to themselves, will then defend 
His cause, and vindicate the rights they gave. 

Wav. Go to your darling people then, for spon, 

If I mistake not, ’twill be needful ; try 
Their boasted zeal, and see if one of them 
Will dare to lift his arm up in your cause, 

If 1 forbid them. 

Edw. Is it so my lord 1 

Then mark my words. I’ve been your slave too long, 
And you have ruled me with a rod of iron ; 

But henceforth know, proud peer, I am thy master, 
And will be so,—the king who delegates 
His power to other’s hands, but ill deserves 
The crown he wears. 


220 


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War. Look well then to your own ; 

It sits but loosely on your head ; for, know. 

The man who injured Warwick never passed 
Unpunished yet. 

Edw. Nor he who threatened Edward— 

You may repent it, Sir—my guards there- seize 

This traitor and convey him to the tower ; 

There let him learn obedience. 

The voice should break forth with great power on the word 
seize,” and also in several other places in this dialogue. 


HAMLET AND HORATIO.— S' hakspearc. 

Horatio. Hail to your lordship ! 

Hamlet . I am glad to see you well. [Approaches.] 
Horatio 1—or I do forget myself. 

Ilor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant 
ever. 

Ham. Sir, my good friend , I’ll change that name 
with you. 

And what makes you from Wittenberg, Horatio 7 

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so ; 

Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, 

To make it truster of your own report 
Against yourself. I know you are no truant : 

But what is your affair in Elsinore ? 

We’ll teach you to drink deep ere you depart. 

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father’s funeral. 

Ham. I pray thee do not mock me, fellow-student; 
1 think it was to see my mother’s wedding. 



FOR EXERCISES. 


221 


Hor. Indeed! my lord, it followed hard upon. 

Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked 
meats 

Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 

Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven, 

Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio! 

My father—methinks 1 see my father— 

Hor. Where, my lord I 

Ham. In my mind’s eye, Horatio. 

Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. 

Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 

I shall not look upon his like again. 

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yestewiight. 

Ham. Saw who ? 

Hor. My lord, the king your father, 

Season your admiration for a while, 

With an attent ear ; ’till I may deliver, 

Upon the witness of these gentlemen, 

This marvel to you. 

Ham. For heaven’s love, let me hear. 

Hor. Two night’s together had these gentlemen, 
Marcellus and Bernardo, on the watch, 

In the dead waste and middle of the night, 

Been thus encountered : a figure like your father, 
Armed at point, exactly, cap-a-pie, 

Appears before them, and, with solemn march, 

Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walks 
By their oppressed and fear-surprised eyes, 

Within his truncheon’s length ; whilst they, (distilled 
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,) 

Stand dumb and speak not to him. 

19 * 


222 


SELBCT PIECES 


Ham. But where was this 1 

Hor. My lord, upon the platform where we watch’d. 
Ham. Did you not speak to it ? 

Hor. My lord, I did ; 

But answer made it none : yet once methought, 

It lifted up its head, and did address 
Itself to motion, like as it would speak ; 

But, even then, the morning cock crew loud ^ 

And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, 

And vanished from our sight. 

Ham . ’Tis very strange ! 

Hor. As I do-live, my honored lord, ’tis true y 
And we did think it writ down in our duty, 

To let you know of it. 

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sir, but this troubles me. 

Hold you the watch to night I 

Hor. We do, my lord. 

Ham. Armed, say you ? 

Hor. Armed, my lord. 

Ham . From top to toe I 

Hor. My lord, from head to foot. 

Ham. Then saw you not his face t 

Hor . O yes, my lord: he wore his beaver up. 

Ham. What, looked he frowningly I 

Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger. 


FOR EXERCISES, 


223 


Ham. Pale, or red ? 

Hor. Nay, very pale. 

Ham. And fixed his eyes upon you ! 

Hor. Most constantly. 

Ham. I would, I had been there. 

Hor. It would have much amazed you*. 

Ham. Very like, very like ; staid it long ? 

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a 
hundred. 

Ham. His beard was grizzled 1 No l — 

. Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 

A sable silvered. 

Ham. PH watch to-night; perchance ’twill walk 
again. 

Hor. I warrant you, it will. 

Ham. If it assume my noble father’s person, 

I’ll speak to it, though hell itself should gape, 

And bid me hold my peace. I pray you, Sir, 

If you have hitherto concealed this sight, 

Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 

And whatsoever else shall hap to night, 

Give it an understanding, but no tongue ; 

I will requite your love: so fare you well. 

Upon the platform, ’twixt eleven and twelve. 

I’ll visit you. 


224 


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OTHELLO AND I AGO.— Shahspeare. 

lago. My noble lord- 

Othello. What dost thou say, lago ? 

logo. Did Michael Cassio, when you wooed my 
lady, 

Know of your love ? 

Oth. He did, from first to last. Why dost thou 
ask? 

lago. But for a satisfaction of my thought; 

No further harm. 

Oth. Why of thy thought, lago ? 

lago. I did not think, he had been acquainted with 
her. 

Oth. O yes ; and went between us very oft. 

[ago. Indeed ? 

Oth. Indeed ! aye, indeed.—Discern’st thou aught 
in that ? 

Is he not honest ? 

[ago. Honest, my lord? 

Oth. Aye, honest. 

[ago. My lord, for aught I know. 

Oth. What dost thou think? 

[ago. Think, my lord ? 

Oth. Think, my lord ! 



FOR EXERCISES. 


225 


Why, thou dost echo me, 

As if there were some monster in thy thought 
Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean some¬ 
thing ; 

I heard thee say but now : “ Thou lik’dst not that,” 
When Cassio left my wife. What didst not like ? 

And when I told thee he was of my counsel 
In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst : “ In¬ 
deed 1” 

And didst contract and purse thy brow together, 

As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain 
Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me, 

Show me thy thought. 

Iago. My lord, you know I love you. 

Oth . I think thou dost: 

And, for I know thou art full of love and honesty, 

And weigh’st thy words before thou giv’st them 
breath,— 

Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more ; 
For such things, in a false, disloyal knave, 

Are tricks of custom ; but, in a man that’s just, 

They are close denotements, working from the heart 
That passion cannot rule. 

Iago. For Michael Cassio, 

I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest. 

Oth . I think so too. 

Iago. Men should he what they seem ; 

Or, those that be not, ’would they might seem none f 

Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem. 

Iago. Why then, I think that Cassio is an honest 
man. 

Oth. Nay, yet there’s more in this : 

I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, 


22 6 


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As thou dost.ruminate; and give thy worst of thoughts 
The worst of words. 

lago. Good my lord, pardon me ; 

Though I am bound to every act of duty, 

I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 

Utter my thoughts! Why, say they are vile and 
false ? 

As where’s that palace, whereinto foul things 
Sometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure, 
But some uncleanly apprehensions 
Keep leets, and law-days, and in sessions sit 
With meditations lawful ? 


DEATH OF ALEXANDER HAMILTON.— Dr. Nott. 

1. A short time since, and he who is the occasion of 
our sorrows, was the ornament of his country. He 
stood on an eminence ; and glory covered him. From} 
that eminence he has fallen—suddenly, forever fallen. 
His intercourse with the living world is now ended; 
and those who would hereafter find him, must seek him 
in the grave. There, cold and lifeless is the heart 
which just now was the seat of friendship. There,] 
dim and sightless is the eye. whose radiant and enliven- * 
ing orb beamed with intelligence ; and there, closed 
forever, are those lips, on whose persuasive accents we 
have so often and so lately hung with transport. 

2. From the darkness which rests upon his tomb, 
there proceeds, methinks, a light, in which it is clearly 
seen, that those gaudy objects which men pursue, are 
only phantoms. In this light how dimly shines the 
splendor of victory—how humble appears the majesty 
of grandeur ! The bubble which seemed to have so 
much solidity, has burst ; and we again see that all be¬ 
low the sun, is vanity. 

3. True, the funeral eulogy has been pronounced. 
The sad and solemn procession has moved. The 
badge of mourning has already been decreed ; and pre- 



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sently the sculptured marble will lift up its front, proud 
to perpetuate the name of Hamilton, and rehearse to 
the passing traveller his virtues. 

4. Just tributes of respect, and to the living useful ; 
but to him, mouldering in his narrow and humble hab¬ 
itation, what are they ! How vain ! How unavailing ? 

5. Approach and behold, while I lift from his sep¬ 
ulchre its covering. Ye admirers of his greatness, ye 
emulous of his talents and his fame, approach and be¬ 
hold him now. How pale ! how silent! No martial 
bands admire the adroitness of his movements. No 
fascinated throng weep, and melt, and tremble at his 
eloquence. Amazing change ! A shroud ! a coffin ! a 
narrow, subterraneous cabin ! This is all that now re¬ 
mains of Hamilton ! And is this all that remains of 
him 1 During a life so transitory, what lasting monu¬ 
ment then can our fondest hopes erect ? 

6. My brethren ! we stand on the borders of an aw¬ 
ful gulf, which is swallowing up all things human. 
And is there, amidst this universal wreck, nothing sta¬ 
ble, nothing abiding, nothing immortal, on which poor, 
frail, dying man can fasten ? 

7. Ask the hero, ask the statesman, whose wisdom 
you have been accustomed to revere, and he will tell 
you. He ivill tell you, did I say 1 He has already 
told you, from his death-bed, and his illumined spirit 
still whispers from the heavens, with well-known elo¬ 
quence, the solemn admonition : Mortals ! hastening 
to the tomb, and once the companions of my pilgrim¬ 
age, take warning and avoid my errors—cultivate the 
virtues I have recommended—choose the Savior I have 
chosen. Live disinterestedly. Live for immortality. 
And w'ould you rescue any thing from final dissolution, 
lay it up in God.’ 7 

Alexander Hamilton was doubtless “a great master of language 
and of song.” It is said that on one occasion, he called upon the 
dead to come forth ; and under the impression that they had bro¬ 
ken their sacred slumbers, at the bidding of the speaker, the au¬ 
dience started up and vacated their seats, for the accommodation 
of those “ that slept.” The duel to which Dr. Nott alludes, and 
in which Hamilton was killed by Col. Burr, was fought at Wee- 
hawk, on the Jersey shore, July 11th, 1804. General Hamilton 


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was born on the island of Nevis, in the year 1757. He wrote a 
large portion of the constitution of the United States. Fisher 
Ames well observes : “ The country deeply laments, when it turns 
its eyes back, and sees what Hamilton was; but my soul stiffens 
with despair, when I think what Hamilton would have been.” 


EXTRACT FROM A SERMON OF BISHOP M. HUGH 

LATIMER, DELIVERED IN ENGLAND, MORE 
THAN THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

1. Brethren, the subject I am to preach about, is a 
sad matter, a godly matter, a ghostly matter. All 
things written in God’s booke, in the Bible booke, in 
the booke of holy scripture, are written to be our doc¬ 
trine. Seede should be sowne in God’s fielde, in God’s 
plough land. The preaching of the gospel is one of 
God’s works : the preacher is one of God’s ploughmen. 
The office of a Bishop is a good worke, it is a worke; 
ye can make but a worke of it It is God’s worke, 
God’s plough, and that plough, he would have still go- 
ing. 

2. But since Lording and loytering came up, the 
Bishop sleepeth, while the devil seeketh, and the plough 
standeth. There is no worke done. The land is too 
stony,—too thorney for Lording loyterers to plough ; 
and the people starve. By Lording and loytering, 
preaching and ploughing is clean gone. As the body 
wastethand consumeth away for lack of bodily meate, 
so doth the soule pine away for default of ghostly 
meates. Moses was a marvelous man, and a good man, 
and a married man ; we lack such as Moses was ; I 
would all men would look to their duty as he did. 

3. But as they will not do their duty, O Lord, in 
what case are we I Such as be meete to bear office, 
seek them out, hire them out, give them competent and 
liberal, they shall not neede to take any bribes. Be¬ 
nefices are sold and bought for money. I marvel the 
ground gapes not to devour such as sell the office of 


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preaching. It is an intolerable thing. Patrons be char¬ 
ged to see the office done, and not to seek a lucre by 
their patronship. 

4. There was a patron in England that had a bene¬ 
fice falne into his hand, and a good brother of mine, 
came unto him and brought him 30 apples in a dish, 
and gave them to his man to carry them to his master. 
This man cometh to his master and presenteth him with 
a dish of apples, saying : “ Sir, such a man hath sent 
you a dish of fruit, and desireth you to be good unto 
him for such a benefice.” “Tush, tush,” (quoth he) 
“ this is no apple matter ; I will none of his apples ; 1 
have as good as these {or any he hath) in mine own or¬ 
chard.” 

5. The man came to the priest again and told him 
what his master said. Then quoth the priest: “Desire 
him yet to proove one of them for my sake ; he shall 
find them much better than they look for.” He cut one 
of them and found ten pieces of gold in it. “ Marry,” 
quoth he, “ this is a good apple.” The priest standing 
not far off, hearing what the gentleman said, cried out 
and answered : “ They are all of one fruit I’ll warrant 
you, Sir, they all grew on one tree, and have all one 
taste.” “ Well, he is a good fellow, let him have it,” 
said the patron. Get you a graft of this tree, and I 
warrant you it will stand you in better stead than all 
St. Paul's learning. Well, let patrons take heed, for 
they shall answer for all the souls that perish through 
their default of ghostly meate. 

6. Christ got into a boat and preached. He cared 
not for the pulpit, so he might do the people good. 
Should a preacher now do it, he would be laughed to 

-scorn by the unpreaching prelates. It is well enough 
to have pulpits, but I would not have them supersti- 
tiously used. I heard of a Bishop that went on a visi¬ 
tation, and when he should be rung into town, the great 
bell’s clapper was fallen down, so that he could not be 
rung into town. The Bishop was offended with the 
chief of the parish. “ Why doth your lordship,” saith 
he, “ make so great a matter of the bell that lacketh his 
clapper w 7 hich has brake ; there is a bell, saith he, (and 


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pointed to the pulpit,) that has lacked a clapper these 
twenty years.” 

7. We have a parson that fetcheth out of his bene¬ 
fice fifty pounds every year, but we never see him. I 
warrant you the Bishop was an unpreaching prelate. 
He could find fault with the bell that wanted a clap¬ 
per to ring him into town, but he could find no fault 
at all with the parson that preached not at his benefice. 
Even this office of preaching hath scarce had a name 
in God’s service. There be a great many men in Eng¬ 
land that say there is no soule, that think it is not eter- 
nall, but like a dog’s soule. 

8. Here I would take occasion to speake somewhat 
to my sisters, the women, before 1 take my leave of 
the world, for 1 think I have not long to live. Peril- 
lous women will rule their husbands in all things, and 
order matters after their own minds. They do there¬ 
in brake the injunction that God gave them : “ Thou 
shalt be subject unto the power of thy husband.” Wo¬ 
men are subjects—ye be subjects to your husbands. 
At the first, the man and the woman were equal ; 
but after she had given credit to the serpent, she had 
an injunction to be “ subject to the power of her hus¬ 
band.” Yes, ye are underlings , underlings, and must 
be obedient. Some are ruled by their husbands as 
they ought to be ; but there be many Adams that will 
not displease their wives, but will let them do as them 
listeth. Such will be quarter-masters with their hus¬ 
bands. Quarter-masters 1 Nay, half masters, yea, 
some of them will be whole -masters and rule the 
whole roast, as they list. This is taken for a laughing 
matter, but it is a weighty matter, a ghostly matter. 

The sermon from which the above extract is taken, was preach¬ 
ed in the year 1535, before king Henry VIII. by M. Hugh Lati¬ 
mer, Bishop of Worcester. The bishop suffered martyrdom at 
the age of 85, for opposing popery, by being burnt at the stake. 
His last words, as addressed to his fellow-sufferer, were : “ Be of 
good comfort, brother Ridley, we shall this day light such a candle 
in England, as I trust by God’s grace, shall never be put out.” 

Bishop Latimer was certainly a shrewd as well as a good man. 
He says : “ When the devil told Christ that if he would worship 
him, he would give him all the kingdoms of the world, he lyed 


FOR EXERCISES. 


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like a false varlet ; he could not give them; he was not able to 
give so much as a goose wing, for they were not his to give.” 
The bishop is too severe with ladies, in calling them underlings. 
They are our associates, not our slaves. Our wives should be 
treated as our equals as well as companions. 

The reader will perceive that the orthography which obtained 
300 years ago, as well as Latimer’s style, is retained in the ex¬ 
tract. 


MAN.— Dr. George Combe. 

1. Man obviously stands pre-eminent among sublu¬ 
nary objects, and is distinguished by remarkable en¬ 
dowments, above all other terrestrial beings. Never¬ 
theless, no creature presents such anomalous appear¬ 
ances as man. Viewed in one aspect, he almost 
resembles a demon ; in another, he still bears the im¬ 
press of the image of God. Seen in his crimes, his 
wars, and his devastations, he might be mistaken for 
an incarnation of an evil spirit ; contemplated in his 
schemes of charity, his discoveries in science, and his 
vast combinations for the benefit of his race, he seems 
a bright intelligence from heaven. 

2. Man is introduced on earth, apparently helpless 
and unprovided for, as a homeless stranger ; but the 
soil on which he treads, is endowed with a thousand 
capabilities of production, which require only to be ex¬ 
cited by his intelligence, to yield him the most ample 
returns. The impetuous torrent rolls its waters to the 
main ; but, as it dashes over the mountain cliffy the 
human hand is capable of withdrawing it from its 
course, and rendering its powers subservient to his 
will. 

3. Ocean extends over half the globe her liquid 
plain, in which no path appears, and the rude winds 
oft lift her waters to the sky ; but there the skill of 
man may launch the strong-knit bark, spread forth the 
canvass to the gale, and make the trackless deep a 
highway through the world, 



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4. Iii such a state of things, knowledge is truly pow~ 
er ; and it is highly important to human beings to be¬ 
come acquainted with the constitution and relations of 
every object around them, that they may discover its 
capabilities of ministering to their own advantage. 
Farther, where these physical energies are too great 
to be controlled, man has received intelligence by which 
he may observe their course, and accommodate his 
conduct to their influence. 

5. This capacity of adaptation is a valuable substi¬ 
tute for the power of regulating them by his will. He 
cannot arrest the sun in its course, so as to avert the 
wintry storms, and cause perpetual spring to bloom 
around him ; but, by the proper exercise of his intelli¬ 
gence and corporeal energies, he is able to foresee the 
approach of bleak skies and rude winds, and to place 
himself in safety from their injurious effects. These 
powers of controlling nature, and of accommodating 
his conduct to its course, are the direct results of his 
rational faculties ; and in proportion to their cultiva¬ 
tion, is his sway extended. 

6. Man, while ignorant, is in a helpless condition. 
But when illuminated by knowledge, he discovers in. 
the objects and occurrences around him, a scheme 
beautifully arranged for the gratification of his whole 
powers, animal, moral, and intellectual ; he recognizes 
in himself, the intelligent and accountable subject of an 
all-bountiful Creator, and in joy and gladness desires 
to study the Creator’s works, to ascertain his laws, and 
to yield to them a steady and a willing obedience. 

7. Without undervaluing the pleasures of his ani¬ 
mal nature, he tastes the higher, more refined, and 
more enduring delights of his moral and intellectual 
capacities, and he then calls aloud for education, as in¬ 
dispensable to the full enjoyment of his rational pow¬ 
ers. Our constitution and our position equally imply, 
that the grand object of our existence is, not that we 
should remain contented with the pleasures of mere 
animal life, but that we should take the dignified and 
far more delightful station of moral and rational occu¬ 
pants of this lower world. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


233 


8. Man is evidently a progressive being; and the 
Creator, having designed a higher path for him than 
for the lower creatures, has given him intellect to 
discover his own nature and that of external objects, 
and left him, by the exercise of that intellect, to find 
out for himself the method of placing his faculties in 
harmony among themselves, and in accordance with 
the external world. Time and experience are neces¬ 
sary to accomplish these ends; and history exhibits the 
human race only in a state of progress towards the 
full developement of their powers, and the attainment 
of rational enjoyment. 

The above is an extract from “The Constitution of Man, con¬ 
sidered in relation to External Objects,” by Dr. George Combe, 
of Edinburgh. It is a most excellent work. Dr. Combe is now 
(1839,) or. a visit in the United States. 


TO MARY IN HE A VEN .—Robert Burns . 

1. Thou lingering star, with less’ning ray, 

That lov’st to greet the early morn, 

Again thou usher’st in the day 
My Mary from my soul was torn. 

O, Mary ! dear, departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast 1 

2. That sacred hour can I forget, 

Can I forget the hallow’d grove, 

Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love! 

Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past ; 

Thy image at our last embrace 1 

Ah 1 little thought we ’twas our last 1 
20 * 



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3. Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, 

O’erhung with wild woods, thick’ning. green; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 

Twin’d amorous round the raptur’d scene. 
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 

The birds sang love on every spray, 

Till too, too soon, the glowing west 
Proclaim’d the speed of winged day. 

4. Still o’er these scenes my mem’ry wakes, 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 

Time but the impression deeper makes, 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 

My Mary ! dear, departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest X 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid X 

Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 

Robert Burns, the great but ill-fated Scottish poet, by whom the 
above beautiful and pathetic lines were written, was born in 1759. 
near Ayr. 


THE CHRISTIAN’S HOPE.— A. Sutton. 

I. Hail! sweetest, dearest tie that binds 
Our glowing hearts in one, 

Hail! sacred hope that tunes our minds 
To harmony divine. 

Chorus, 

It is the hope, the blissful hope, 

Which Jesus’ grace has given ; 

The hope, when days and years are past, 
We all shall meet in heaven ; 

We all shall meet in heaven at last, 

We all shall meet in heaven ; 

The hope, when days and years are past, 
We all shall meet in heaven. 



FOR EXERCISES. 


235 


2. What though the northern, wintry blast 
Shall howl around thy cot; 

What though beneath an eastern sun 
Be cast our distant lot; 

Chorus. 

Yet still we share the blissful hope 
Which Jesus’ grace has given, &c. 

8. From Burmah’s shores, from Afric’s strand, 
From India’s burning plain, 

From Europe, from Columbia’s land, 

We hope to meet again. 

Chorus. 

It is the hope, the blissful hope, 

Which Jesus’ grace has given, &c, 

4. No lingering look, no parting sigh, 

Our future meeting knows; 

There friendship beams from every eye, 

And hope immortal grows. 

Chorus. 

0, sacred hope ! O, blissful hope ! 

Which Jesus’ grace has given, &c. 

In the year 1834, Rev. Amos Sutton, who had occupied several 
years, as a missionary, near the temple of Juggernaut, in Orissa, 
India, visited England and America, for the recovery of his health. 
In these countries, he addressed large assemblies with great ac¬ 
ceptance ; and on the eve of his return to the field of his labor, 
many thousands, under the impression that they should “ see his 
face no more,” expressed an attachment for him, which presented 
a striking contrast between the affection of Christians and the 
cold indifference which he had witnessed among the heathen. 
This prompted him to compose the above beautiful and pathetic 
lines. They should be read on a low key, and in a plaintive. 
manner. 


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RULES FOR THE STRUCTURE OF A SENTENCE. 

—Alexander Walker. 

1. General rules. —1st. Observe strictly the order 
of cause and effect ; or, let objects be designated suc¬ 
cessively, as they give impressions to the organs of 
sense ; ideas , emotions , and passions , in the order in 
which they are produced in the mind. 2d. Let the 
more general ideas precede the more particular. 3d. 
Let the mention of time and place precede that of ac¬ 
tions in them; and of conditions , that of the things de¬ 
pendent on them. 

2. Particular rules. —Let the following order be 
observed, so far as it may be applicable in any sen¬ 
tence :—1st, Time ; 2d, Place ; 3d, General circum¬ 
stances ; 4th, Person, or Persons ; 5th, Motives; 6th, 
The Act; 7th, The Result. 

3. Example. —[Time.] In the year 1809,—[Place.] 
on the banks of the Danube,—[General circumstances.] 
while the majority of the German States were under 
the influence of France,—[Persons.] the arch-duke 
Charles, with a brave Austrian army,—[Motives.] ex¬ 
cited by the resolution to liberate their country, or 
die in the attempt,—[Act.] completly routed a pow¬ 
erful host of French invaders, foiled the renown of their 
boasted chiefs,—[Result.] and gave an example to 
Europe, which did not fail to be imitated. 

Writers are not, perhaps, aware of the existence of the above 
rules. It is believed, however, that all accomplished writers and 
good speakers unconsciously comply with them, in the structure 
of their sentences. The suggestions of the author of these rules, 
on the subject of elocution, are also entitled to consideration. He 
says that “ The fine arts are intimately connected with language. 
Like it, their object is to communicate ideas and emotions. So 
close is this alliance, that the perfect orator exhibits to a great 
extent, in his own person, the solemn dignity of sculpture, the 
magic lights of painting, the sublime enthusiasm of poetry, and 
the indescribable charms of music. Whence this union ? What 
common principle pervades them all 7 Is it that they all result 
from the muscular motions of the human body ? Are the signifi- 


FOR EXERCISES. 


237 


cant gestures of the orator, and the representations of such by the 
painter and sculptor, spontaneous imitations of the forms and 
motions connected with the reception of the ideas to be expressed 1 
Be this as it may, the most expressive productions of art afford the 
two following principles of contrast and harmony: 

“ Contrast .— When either extremity of one side is elevated, 
the other is depressed. 

“ Harmony .—The upper extremity.of one side and the lower of 
the other, are elevated, and inflected, and depressed, and exten¬ 
ded together.’-' 

I see no good reason why the principle of attitude in the fine 
arts, is not applicable, as our author contends, alike to gesture in 
oratory, to sculpture, and to the higher species of painting. 


HEAVEN’S ATTRACTIONS.— New York Observer . 

1. I have been thinking of the attractions of heaven 
—what there is in heaven to draw souls to it. I 
thought of the place. Heaven has place. Christ says 
to his disciples: “ I go to prepare a place for you.” It is 
a part of the consolation with which he comforts them, 
that heaven is a place, and not a mere state. What a 
place it must be ! Selected out of all the locations of 
the universe—the chosen spot of space. We see, even 
on earth, places of great beauty, and we can conceive 
of spots far more delightful than any we see. But 
what comparison can these bear to heaven, where 
every thing exceeds whatever eye has seen or imagin¬ 
ation conceived 1 

*####*#* 

2. Then I thought of the freedom of the place from 
the evils of earth. Not only what is in heaven should 
attract us to it, but what is not there. And what is not 
there I There is no night there. Who does not want 
to go where no night is 1 No night—no natural night 
—none of its darkness, its damps, its dreariness;—and no 
moral night—no ignorance—no error—no misery—no 
sin. These all belong to the night ; and there is no 
night in heaven. And why no night there I What 
shines there so perpetually? It is not any natural lumi- 



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nary. It is a moral radiance that lights up heaven* 
“ The glory of God doth lighten it, and the Lamb is 
the light thereof.” No need have they of other light. 
This shines every where and on all. All light is sweet, 
but no light is like this. 

3. And not only no night there, but “ no more curse” 
Christ redeemed them from the curse of the law, being 
made curse for them. And, “no more death” The 
last enemy is overcome at last. Each, as he enters the 
place, shouts victoriously: “ Oh ! death I Oh ! grave !” 
“ Neither sorrow .” It is here . Oh ! yes : it is here— 
around, within. We hear it, we see it, and at length 
we feel it. But it is not there. “ Nor crying ,” no ex¬ 
pressions of grief. “ Neither shall there be any more 
pain ; for the former things have passed away.” And 
what becomes of tears ? Are they left to dry up 1 
Nay, God wipes them away. And this is a sure sign 
they never will return. What shall cause weeping, 
when He wipes away tears I 

4. I have not said that there is no sin in heaven. I 
have not thought that necessary. If sin was there, 
night, would be there, and the curse, and death, and 
all the other evils—the train of sin. These are not 
there. Therefore, sin is not. No ; “ we shall be like 
him ; for we see him as he is.” 

5. What is there, since these are not 1 Day is there 
~-^and there is the blessing that maketh rich—and 
there is life , immortality—and since no sorrow, joy —. 
“ fulness of joy—joy unspeakable”—and smiles where 
tears were—and there they rest , not from their labors 
only, but.from cares, and doubts, and fears. And glory 
is there, an “ exceeding and eternal weight.” 

6. Is that all ? Where is he who used to lisp: “ Fa¬ 
ther,. mother,”—thy child! Passing out of your hands, 
passed he not into those of Jesus'? Yes; you suffered 
him. If any other than Jesus had said: “ Suffer them 
to come unto me,” you would have said: No. Death 
does not quench those recently struck sparks of intel¬ 
ligence. Jesus is not going to lose one of those little 
brilliants. All shall be in his crown. 

7. Perhaps thou hast a brother, or a sister there. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


239 


That should draw you towards heaven. Perhaps a mo¬ 
ther —she whose eye wept while it watched over thee, 
until at length, it grew dim, and closed. Took she not 
in her cold hand thine, while yet her heart was warm; 
and said she not, “ I am going to Jesus. Follow me 
there V 9 Perhaps one nearer, dearer than child, than 
brother, than mother—the nearest, dearest, is there. 
Shall I say who 1 Christian female, thy husband. 
Christian father, the young mother of thy babes. He 
is not— She is not ; for God took them. Has heaven 
no attractions 1 

8. Heaven is gaining in attractions every day. 
True, the principal attractions continue the same. 
But the lesser ones multiply. Some have attractions 
there now, which they had not but a few months ago. 
Earth is losing. How fast it has been losing of late ! 
But earth’s losses are heaven’s gains. They who 
have left so many dwelling places of earth desolate, 
have gone to their father’s house in heaven. What if 
they shall not return to us! We shall go to them. 
That is better. 

9. But the principal attractions I have not yet men¬ 
tioned. There is our Father—our heavenly Father, 
whom we have so often addressed as such in prayer. 
He that nourished and brought us up, and has borne 
us on—He that has watched over us with an eye that 
never sleeps, and provided for us with a hand that 
never tires ; and who can pity too. We have never 
seen our heavenly Father. But there he reveals him¬ 
self. There he smiles ; and the nations of the saved, 
walk in the light of his countenance. 

10. And there is He, to depart and be with whom, 
Paul desired, as being u far better” than to live. 
There is his glorified humanity. If not having seen, 
we love him,"and in him, though now we see him not, 
yet believing, we rejoice with joy unspeakable and 
full of glory, what will be the love and the joy, when 
“ we shall see him as he is I” There is He. 

11. Heaven has attractions —many and strong— 
and yet who would think it 1 How few feel and obey 
the heavenly attraction! How much more powerfully 


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earth acts upon us ! How unwilling we are to leave 
it even for heaven ! 


ELOQUENCE OF SHERIDAN. 

1. Public curiosity was scarcely ever so strongly 
interested as on the day when Mr. Sheridan was to 
speak on the Begum charge on the impeachment of 
Mr. Hastings. The avenues leading to the hall were 
filled with persons of the first distinction, many of them 
peeresses in full dress, who waited in the open air for 
upwards of an hour and a half before the gates were 
opened, when the crowd pressed so eagerly forward* 
that many persons had nearly perished. No extract 
can do justice to this speech ; the following is a par¬ 
tial specimen of its power. 

2. “ When we hear the description of the paroxysm, 
fever, and delirium, into which despair had thrown the 
natives, when on the banks of the polluted Ganges, 
panting for death, they tore more widely open the lips 
of their gaping wounds, to accelerate their dissolution; 
and while their blood was issuing, presented their 
ghastly eyes to Heaven, breathing their last and fer¬ 
vent prayer, that the dry earth might not be suffered 
to drink their blood ; but that it might rise up to the 
throne of God, and rouse the eternal Providence to 
avenge the wrongs of their country, 

3. What motive could have such influence in their 
bosom I What motive! That which nature, the com¬ 
mon parent, plants in the bosom of man ; and which, 
though it may be less active in the Indian than in the 
Englishman, is still congenial with, and makes part of, 
his being ; that feeling which tells him, that man was 
never made to be the property of man; but that when, 
through pride and insolence of power, one human crea¬ 
ture dares to tyrannize over another, it is a power 
usurped, and resistance is a duty ; that feeling which 
tells him that all power is delegated for the good, not 



FOR EXERCISES. 


241 


ior the injury of the people, and that when it is con« 
verted from the original purpose, the compact is bro¬ 
ken, and the right is to be resumed ; that principle 
which tells him, that resistance to power usurped, is 
not merely a. duty which he owes to himself and to 
his neighbor, but a duty which he owes to his God, in 
asserting and maintaining the rank which he gave him 
in the creation ! to that common God, who, where he 
gives the form of man, whatever may be the complex¬ 
ion, gives also th o feelings and the rights of. man;—that 
principle, which neither the rudeness of ignorance can 
stifle, nor the enervation of refinement extinguish!— 
that principle which makes it base for a man to suffer 
when he ought to act, which, tending to preserve to the 
species the original designations of Providence, spurns 
at the arrogant distinctions of man, and vindicates the 
independent quality of his race. 

4. The majesty of Justice, in the eyes of Mr. Has¬ 
tings, is a being of terrific horror—a dreadful idol, pla¬ 
ced in the gloom of graves, accessible only to cringing 
supplication, and which must be approached with of¬ 
ferings, and worshipped by sacrifice. The majesty of 
Mr. Hastings is a being whose decrees are written 
with blood, and whose oracles are at once secure and 
terrible. From such an idol, I turn mine eyes with 
horror—I turn them here to this dignified and high tri¬ 
bunal, where the majesty of justice really sits enthro¬ 
ned. Here I perceive the majesty of justice in her 
proper robes of truth and mercy, chaste and simple, 
accessible and patient, awful without severity, inquisi¬ 
tive without meanness. I see her enthroned and sit¬ 
ting in judgment on a great and momentous cause, in 
which the happiness of millions is involved. 

5. Pardon me, my lords, if I presume to say, that in 
the decision of this great cause, you are to be envied 
as well as venerated. You possess the highest distinc¬ 
tion of the human character ; for when you render 
your ultimate voice on this cause, illustrating the dig¬ 
nity of the ancestors from whom you spring, justifying 
the solemn asseveration w'hich you make, vindicating 
the people of whom you are a part, and manifesting 


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U2 

the intelligence of the times in which you live, you will 
do such an act of mercy and blessing to man, as no 
men but yourselves are able to grant.” 

6. On the conclusion of Mr. Sheridan’s speech, the 
whole assembly, members, peers, and strangers, invol¬ 
untarily joined in a tumult of applause, and adopted a 
mode of expressing their approbation, new and irregu¬ 
lar in that house, by loudly and repeatedly clapping 
their hands. A motion was immediately made and 
carried for an adjournment, that the members who 
were in a slate of delirious insensibility from the talis- 
manic influence of such powerful eloquence, might 
have time to collect their scattered senses for the ex¬ 
ercise of a sober judgment. This motion was made 
by Mr. Pitt, who declared that this speech “surpassed 
all the eloquence of ancient and modern times, and 
possesses every thing that genius or art could furnish, 
to agitate and control the human mind.” 

7. “He has this day,” said Mr. Burke, “surprised 
the thousands who hung with rapture on his accents, 
by such an array of talents, such an exhibition of ca¬ 
pacity, such a display of powers, as are unparalleled 
in the annals of oratory ! a display that reflects the 
highest honor upon himself, lusture upon letters, re¬ 
nown upon parliament, glory upon the country. 

8. “Of all species of rhetoric, of every kind of elo¬ 
quence that has been witnessed or recorded, either in 
ancient or modern times : whatever the acuteness of 
the bar, the dignity of the senate, the solidity of the 
judgment seat, and the sacred morality of the pulpit, 
have hitherto furnished, nothing has surpassed, nothing 
has equalled what we have this day heard in Westmii? 
ster hall. 

9. “ No holy seer of religion, no sage, no statesman, 
no orator, no man of any literary description whatev¬ 
er, has come up, in the one instance, to the pure sen¬ 
timents of morality ; or, in the other, to that variety 
of knowledge, force of imagination, proprietv and vi¬ 
vacity of allusion, beauty and elegance of diction, 
strength and copiousness of style, pathos and sublimity 
of conception, to which we have this day listened with 


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ardor and admiration. From poetry up to eloquence, 
there is not a species of composition of which a com¬ 
plete and perfect specimen might not, from that single 
speech, be culled and collected.” 


NEW MISSIONARY HYMN.— S. F. Smith. 

1. Yes, my native land, I love thee, 

All thy scenes, 1 love them well, 

Friends, connexions, happy country! 

Can I bid you all farewell l 
Can I leave you— 

Far in heathen lands to dwell ] 

2. Home ! thy joys are passing lovely; 

Joys no stranger-heart can tell ! 

Happy home ! indeed 1 love thee ! 

Can I, can I say, Farewell ? 

Can I leave thee— 

Far in heathen lands to dwell l 

3. Scenes of sacred peace and pleasure, 

Holy days and Sabbath bell, 

Richest, brightest, sweetest treasure ! 

Can I say a last farewell ? 

Can I leave you— 

Far in heathen lands to dwell 'l 

4. Yes ! I hasten from you gladly, 

From the scenes I loved so well ; 

Far away, ye billows, bear me ; 

Lovely, native land farewell! 

Pleased I leave thee— * 

Far in heathen lands to dwell. 

5. In the deserts let me labor, 

On the mountains let me tell, 

IIow He died—the blessed Savior, 



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To redeem a world from hell ? 

Let me hasten, 

Far in heathen lands to dwell. 

6. Bear me on, thou restless ocean ; 

Let the winds, the canvass swell— 
Heaves my heart with warm emotion. 
While I go far hence to dwell; 

Glad I bid thee, 

Native land —farewell, farewell! 


ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.— 

Cicero . 

1. No man, Scipio, shall ever persuade me, that the 
excellent persons whom I have known, but whom I 
need not mention, would have performed so many ex¬ 
ploits that were to descend to posterity, had they not in 
their own minds been convinced, that they had an inter¬ 
est in posterity, and that they were to superintend its 
actions. Doyou imagine that I (for I must be indulged 
in a little of an old man’s boasting) would have under¬ 
taken so many toils, by day and by night, at home and 
abroad, did I think that the period of my glory was to 
be the same with that of my life ‘l Would it not have 
been .wiser in me to have passed my days in ease and 
retirement, without stir, and without struggle 1 

2. But, I know not how, my soaring soul always 
looked upon posterity in such a light as if she w r as not 
to enjoy real life, till she had left the body. And, in¬ 
deed, were not our souls immortal, never would it hap¬ 
pen, that the souls of the best of men, should always 
be the most passionate after an immortality of glory. 
You see, that the wiser a man is, he goes with the 
greater calmness out of life; and the more stupid he 
is, he is the more disturbed by death. 

3. Are you not, then, sensible that the mind, which 
has the most comprehensive and the most penetrating 



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245 


view, perceives that it is going to a better place, 
which the dull eye of more blunted reason, cannot dis¬ 
cern? For my own part, I am transported With the 
hope of again seeing our fathers, whom, in life, I hon¬ 
ored and loved. And I pant to meet not only with 
'those with whom I have been acquainted in life ; but 
with those of whom I have heard, of whom 1 have 
read, and of whom I myself have written. 

4. It would be, indeed, a masterly power that should 
hinder my journey to them, even though it should 
again grind me into youth. Nay, should a god give 
me the boon of going at this my age, into second child¬ 
hood, and of puling in the cradle, yet would I reject 
it ; for I have no notion of beginning anew the race 
I have finished, or of being set back to the starting post 
just as I have run round the course. Can any man 
think that the pleasures overbalance the toils of living? 
But, supposing they do ; yet still pleasures will cloy, 
and they must end. And yet I have no mind to com¬ 
plain, (as many learned men have done,) of life ; nei¬ 
ther do I repent that I have lived, because I have lived 
so as to answer life’s purposes. 

5. And I leave life, not as I would do my home, but 
as I would an inn ; for nature gave it to us, not as our 
dwelling, but our lodging place. O, glorious day ! 
when I shall arrive at that divine senate and society of 
departed spirits, when I shall bid adieu to the bustle 
and pollution of this world ! Then I will repair, not 
only to the great men to whom I have alluded, but to 
my Cato, to my son,—a man never exceeded by any, 
either in the goodness of his heart, or the excellency 
of his morals. 

6. His body I burnt; these old hands performed for 
him the duties which he ought to have paid to me. 
Yet did not his soul forsake me ! No ; it is still look¬ 
ing back upon his father, and he assuredly inhabits 
those mansions to which he knew I would follow him. 
If I seem to bear my loss* with fortitude, it is not be¬ 
cause 1 am indifferent about it, but because I comfort 
myself with thoughts that we shall not long be sepa¬ 
rated from one another. 

21 * 


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7. Scipio, it is by these means, that old age is light¬ 
some to me; nay, it is so far from being a trouble, that 
it is a pleasure to me. As to my opinion, that the souls 
of men are immortal : if it is a mistake, it is a mistake 
of the most pleasing nature; aiM never while I breathe, 
shall I be willing to be cured of an imposition that 
gives me so much delight. But if, as some minute phi¬ 
losophers hold, all consciousness is at an endwith life, 
I shall not be afraid of being laughed at by the dead 
philosophers. 

8. But, supposing we are not to be immortal, yet a 
man ought to wish to leave the world at a proper time. 
For nature, as she prescribes bounds to every thing 
else, has likewise prescribed a period for our living. 
Now, old age, like the winding up of a play, winds up 
our life, the tiresomeness of which we ought to avoid, 
especially if we are satiated with living. 


The wards in italic in the above extract from Cicero’s sugges¬ 
tions cm “ The Immortality of the Soul,” are part of the inscrip¬ 
tions that were put upon those monuments which parents erected 
for their children. The extract is from “ Cicero’s Treatise con¬ 
cerning the Moral Duties of Mankind, a Future State, and the 
Means of making Old Age Happy.” 

Those who may read the extract here given from Cicero, will 
perceive how admirable and deeply interesting are the views 
which he took of the destiny which awaited him. Nothing could 
reconcile him, nor can any thing reconcile ns, to the loss of the 
society of beloved relatives and friends, but the confident hope of 
meeting them again* beyond ‘ these sable shores,” and of dwelling 
and rejoicing together, by partaking of the sweets of perfect free¬ 
dom and the solemn feasts of religion, while “ eternity may circle 
onward.” 


DAVID’S CONFIDENCE IN GOD’S GRACE.— 
Psalm xxiii. , 

1. The Lord is my sheherd ; I shall not want. He 
maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth 
me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul ; he 
leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s 



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247 


sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the 
shadow of death, I will fear no evil ; for thou art with 
me ; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. 

Thou preparest a table before me in the presense of 
mine enemies ; thou anointest my head with oil ; 
my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy 
shall follow me all the days of my life ; and I will 
dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. 


OF ELOCUTION .—Thelwal 

1. Elocution is the art or the act of so delivering our 
own thoughts and sentiments, or the thoughts and sen¬ 
timents of others, as not only to convey to those 
around us, with precision, force, and harmony, the full 
purport and meaning of the words and sentences in 
which these thoughts are clothed ; but also to excite 
and to impress upon their minds, the feelings, the im¬ 
aginations, and the passions by which those thoughts 
are dictated, or with which they should naturally be 
accompanied. 

2. Elocution, therefore, in its more ample and lib¬ 
eral signification, is not confined to the mere exercise 
of the organs of speech. It embraces the whole theory 
and practice of the exterior demonstration of the inward 
workings of the mind. 

3. To concentrate what has been said by an allego¬ 
rical recapitulation : eloquence may be considered as 
the soul, or animated principle of discourse ; and is 
dependent on intellectual energy and intellectual at¬ 
tainments. Elocution is the embodying form, or re¬ 
presentative power ; dependent on exterior accom¬ 
plishments, and on the cultivation of the organs. Ora¬ 
tory is the complicated and vital existence resulting 
from the perfect harmony and combination of eloquence 
and elocution. 

4. The vital existence, however, in its full perfec¬ 
tion, is one of the choicest rarities of nature. The 



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high and splendid accomplishments of oratory, even in 
the most favored age and the most favored countries, 
have been attained by few ; and many are the ages, 
and many are the countries, in which these accomplish¬ 
ments have never once appeared. Generations have 
succeeded to generations, and centuries have rolled af¬ 
ter centuries, during which, the intellectual desert has 
not exhibited even one solitary specimen of the stately 
growth and flourishing expansion of oratorical genius. 

5. The rarity of this occurrence is, undoubtedly, in 
part, to be accounted for, from the difficulty of the at¬ 
tainment. The palm of oratorical perfection is only 
to he grasped-r-it is, in reality, only to be desired\ by 
aspiring souls, and intellects of unusual energy. 

6. It requires a persevering toil which few would 
be contented to encounter ; a decisive intrepidity of 
character, and an untameableness of mental ambition, 
which very, very few can be expected to possess. It 
requires, also, conspicuous opportunities for cultivation 
and display, to which few can have the fortune to be 
born, and which fewer still will have the hardihood to 
endeavor to create. 


EXTRACT FROM “ WILSON’S ARTE OF 
RHETORIQUE,” 

PUBLISHED SEVERAL HUNDRED YEARS SINCE, IN 
ENGLAND. 

1. Pronunciation standeth partly in fashioning the 
tongue, and partly in framing the gesture. The 
tongue or voyce is praise worthie, if the utteraunce be 
audible, strong, and easie, and apt to order as we list. 
Therefore, they that mind to get praise in telling their 
minde in open audience, must, at the first beginning, 
speak somewhat softlie, use meete pausing, and beeing 
somewhat heated, rise with their voyce,"as tyme and 
cause shall best require. 



FOR EXERCISES. 


249 


2. They that have no good voyces by nature, or 
cannot well utter their wordes, must seekq for help 
elsewhere. Exercise of the bodie, fastying, moderation 
in meate and drinke, gaping wide, or singyng plaine 
song, and counterfeyting those that doe speake dis¬ 
tinctly, helpe muche to have a goode deliveraunce. 
Demosthenes, beying not able to pronounce the first 
letter of that arte whiche he professed, but woulde sai 
for rhetorike, letolike , used to put little stones under 
his tongue, and so pronounced, whereby he speake at 
length so plainly as any man in the worlde coulde doe. 

3. Musicians in Englande have used to put gagges 
in children’s mouthes, that they might pronounce dis¬ 
tinctly ; but now, with the losse and lacke of musick, 
the love also is gone of bringing up children to speak 
plainly. Some there be that either natrally, or through 
folly, have suche evill voyces, and suche lacke of ut¬ 
terance, and suche evill gesture, that it muche defaceth 
all their doynges. 

4. One pipes out his wordes so small, through de- 
faulte of his winde pipe, that ye woulde thinke he 
whistled. Another is hoarse in his throate. Another 
speakes as though he had plummes in his mouthe. 
Another speakes in his throate, as though a goode ale 
crumme stucke fast. Another rattles his wordes. 
Another choppes his wordes. Another speakes as 
though his wordes had neede to be heaved out with 
leavers. Another speakes as though his wordes 
shoulde be weighed in a ballance. Another gapes to 
fetch winde at every thirde worde. 

5. This manne barkes out his Englishe, Northern 
like, with, I saie, and thou lad. Another speakes so 
finely, as though he were brought up in a ladie’s cham¬ 
ber/ As I knewe a priest that was as nice as a nunne’s 
henne ; when he would saie masse, he would never 
saie Dominus vobiscum , but Dominus vobicum. Some 
blowe at their nostrilles. Some sighes out their 
wordes. Some singes their sentences. Some laughes 
altogether, when they speake to any bodie. 

6. Some cackles like a henne, or a jacke-dawe. 
Some speakes as though they shoulde tell in their 


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sleeve. Some cries out so loude, that they woulde 
make a man’s ears ask to heare them. Some couches 
at every worde. Some hemmes it out. Some spittes 
fire, they talke so hottelv. Some makes a wry 
mouthe, and so they wrest out their wordes. Some 
whines like a pigge. Some suppes their wordes up, 
as a poore man doth his porage. 

7. Another winkes with one eye, and some with 
both. This man frouneth alwaies when he speakes. 
Another lookes ever as though he were madde. Some 
cannot speake but they must goe up and downe, or at 
least be styrryng their feete, as though they stood in 
a boate. Another will plai with his cappe in his hand, 
and so tell his tale* as if he was cheapening a beaver. 

8. Some, when they speake in a greate companie,will 
looke all one w T aie, as I knewe a reader in my days, 
who looked in like forte when he redde to scholers; 
whom one thought to disappoint of suche his constaunt 
lookes ; and, therefore, against the next dai, he painted 
the devill with homes upon his heade, in the self same 
place where the reader was wont alwaies to looke; 
the which strange monster, when the reader sawe, he 
was halfe abashed, and turned his face another waie. 

9. Some pores upon the ground as though they 
sought for pinnes. Some swellesin the face, andfilles 
their cheekes full of winde, as though they woulde 
blowe out their wordes. Some settes forthe their 
lippes two inches goode beyond their teethe. Some 
talkes as though their tongue went of pattines. Some 
shews all their teethe. Some speakes in thier teethe 
altogether. Some lettes their wordes fall in their 
lfppes, scant opening them when they speake. 

10. There are a thousand suche faultes among men, 
bothe for their speeche and also for their gesture, the 
which, if in their young yeres they be not remidied, 
they will hardely bee forgott when they come to man’s 
state. 

The above extract from “Wilson’s Arte of Rbetorique,” is inser¬ 
ted, not only because it points out the faults of speakers, but, on 
account of the peculiarity of the style. It may serve as an exer- 
eise in orthography, of false spelling. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


251 


INDUSTRY NECESSARY TO THE ATTAINMENT 
OF ELOQUENCE.— Rev. Henry Ware, jun, 

1. In the ancient republics of Greece and Rome, ora¬ 
tory was a necessary branch of a finished education. 
A much smaller (proportion of the citizens were edu¬ 
cated than among us, but of these a much larger num¬ 
ber became orators. No man could hope for distinc¬ 
tion or influence, and yet slight this art. The com¬ 
manders of their armies were orators as well as sol¬ 
diers, and ruled as well by their rhetorical as by their 
military skill. There was no trusting with them as 
with us, to a natural facility, or the acquisition of an 
accidental fluency by actual practice. 

2. But they served an apprenticeship to the art. 
They passed through a regular course of instruction 
in schools. They submitted to long and laborious dis¬ 
cipline. They exercised themselves frequently, both 
before equals and in the presence of teachers, who 
criticised, reproved, rebuked, excited emulation, and 
left nothing undone which art and perseverance could 
accomplish. The greatest orators of antiquity, so far 
from being favored by natural tendencies, except in¬ 
deed, in their high intellectual endowments, had to 
struggle against natural obstacles ; and instead of grow- 
iug up spontaneously to their unrivalled eminence, they 
forced themselves forward by the most discouraging, 
artificial process. 

3. Demosthenes combatted an impediment in speech, 
an ungainliness of gesture, which at first drove him 
from "the forum in disgrace. Cicero failed at first, 
through weakness of lungs and an excessive vehe¬ 
mence of manner, which wearied the bearers and de¬ 
feated his own purpose. These defects were conquer¬ 
ed by study and discipline. Cicero exiled himself 
from home ; and during his absence in various lands, 
passed not a day without a rhetorical exercise, seeking 
the masters who were most severe in criticism, as the 
surest means of leading him to the perfection at which 
he aimed. 


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4. Such too was the education of their other great 
men. They were all, according to their ability and 
station, orators ; orators, not by nature or accident, but 
by education, formed in a strict process of rhetorical 
training ; admired and followed even while Demosthe¬ 
nes and Cicero were living, and unknown now, only 
because it is not possible that any but the first should 
survive the ordeal of ages. 

5. The inference to be drawn from these observa¬ 
tions is, that if so many of those who received an ac¬ 
complished education, became accomplished orators, 
because to become so was one purpose of their study; 
then it is in the power of a much larger proportion 
among us to form themselves into creditable and accu¬ 
rate speakers. The inference should not be denied, 
until proved false by experiment. 

G. Let this art be made an object of attention, and 
young men train themselves to it faithfully and long; 
and if any of competent talents and tolerable science 
be found at last incapable of expressing themselves in 
continued and connected discourse so as to answer the 
ends of public speaking, then and not till then, let it be 
said that a peculiar talent or natural aptitude is requi¬ 
site, the want of which must render effort vain ; then 
and not till then, let us acquiesce in this indolent and 
timorous notion, which contradicts the whole testimo¬ 
ny of antiquity, and all the experience of the world. 

The above valuable extract is from a small and excellent work 
on “ Extemporaneous Preaching,” written by Rev. Mr. Ware, of 
Boston. 


THE SAILOR-BOY’S DREAM.— IV. IV. Dirnond. 

L In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay, 

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind, 
But watch worn and weary, his cares flew awav, 
And visions of happiness danced o’er his mind. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


253 

2. He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bow’rs 
And pleasure that waited on life’s merry morn ; 

While mem’ry stood sideways, half cover’d with 
flow’rs, 

And displayed ev’ry rose, but secreted its thorn. 

3. Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 
And bade the young dreamer in ecstacy rise ; 

Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes : 

4. The jessamine clambers, in flow’r, o’er the thatch, 
And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the 

wall : 

All trembling with transport he raises the latch, 
And the voices of lov’d ones reply to his call. 

5. A Father bends o’er him with looks of delight— 
His cheek is impearl’d with a mother’s warm tear ; 

And the lips of the boy, in a love kiss, unite 
With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. 

6. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, 
Joy quicken’s his pulse—all his hardships seem o’er, 

And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest— 
u Kind fate thou hast blest me—I ask for no more.” 

7. Ah 1 whence is that flame which now bursts on 

his eye ? 

Ah ! what is that sound which now larums his ear ? 
^Tis the lightning’s red glare, painting hell on the 
sky,— 

’Tis the crashing of thunders , the groan of the sphere. 

, 8. He springs from his hammock—he flies to the deck, 
Amazement con front’s him with images dire ; 

Wild winds and waves drive the vessel a wreck, 
The masts fly in splinters, the shrouds are on fire. 

9. Like mountains the billows tremendously swell ^ 
In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save ; 

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Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, 

And the death angel flaps his broad wing o’er the wave 

10. Oh! sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight ; 
In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ; 

Where now is the picture that fancy touch’d bright— 
Thy parents’ fond pressure, and love’s honied kiss ? 

11. Oh, sailor-boy! sailor-boy ! never again 
Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay ! 

Unblest and unhonor’d, down deep in the main, 

Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay : 

12. No tomb shall e’er plead to remembrance for 

thee, 

Or redeem form or fame from the merciless surge ; 
But the white foam of wave shall thy winding sheet 
be, 

And winds in the midnight of winter , thy dirge ; 

13. On beds of green sea-flow’rs thy limbs shall be 

laid, 

Around thv white bones the red coral shall grow ; 

Of thy fair, yellow locks, threads of amber be made ; 
And ev'ry part suit to thy mansion below. 

14. D tys, months , years , and ages shall circle away, 
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll ; 

Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye :— 

Oh, sailor-boy ! sailor-boy !—peace to thy soul ! 


ELOQUENCE OF THE HUMAN VOICE.— Dr. 

J. R. Black. 

1. We are all sensible of the varieties of the human 
voice ; we distinguish our acquaintances by its tones, 
as unerringly as by the features of the face ; and in 
speaking of each other, we refer to its qualities as con¬ 
stituting a most essential point in our descriptions. 



FOR EXERCISES. 


255 


Yet how few of us have any distinct consciousness of 
the immense influence which the tones of the voice ex¬ 
ercise, not only in qualifying the import of our words, 
but in communicating, almost independent of them, the 
most delicate sensations, as well as the most violent 
emotions, and in disclosing the deepest and most hid¬ 
den traits of the “concealed heart.” 

2. Every one feels how many physiognomical pe¬ 
culiarities are indissolubly connected with certain mor¬ 
al and intellectual qualities ; but this connexion is far 
less extensive and fixed, than that between peculiar 
tones and their qualities. From the first to the last 
breath of our existence, the voice takes its character 
from the mind and the heart. 

3. Education, as it modifies our other attributes, 
may modify this, and even bestow command over some 
of its powers ; still its tones will remain the true index 
of the soul. The various changes, from the angelic 
innocence of the little child, through the joys of child¬ 
hood, the hopes of youth, and the designs of maturity, 
down to the indifference of old age, continually produce 
their corresponding changes in the tones of the voice. 

4. What description of the purity, the innocence, the 
helplessness of an infant, could move our hearts to¬ 
wards the little being, like its sweet and wordless tones? 
what call of distress so irresistibly draws assistance, 
as the cries of its wants and its pains ? Nature has 
given to these tones a peculiar power, commensurate 
with its entire dependence upon us, and we are its ser- 
vators. 

5. Then is there on earth, any thing like the play¬ 
ful and joyous tones through which after-childhood 
pours out its unchained spirit ? Nothing—no wit, no 
humor, no exhilaration of the mature man has power 
over our sympathies, like the bursts from the spotless 
hearts of laughing children. 

6 In youth, that state between the artless child and 
artful adult, when the bosom is in perpetual commo¬ 
tion, its hopes and its passions assuming new positions 
and new combinations, kaleidoscope like, at every new 
incident that agitates the mind, how impotent are mere 


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words, how meagre would be the pictures of the hearty 
without the tones of the voice peculiar to that age. 

7. In manhood, when the mind directs every act 
and every speech according to design, good or bad, 
and attempts to bend every incident to its purposes, we- 
acquire the art of appearing what we wish to be thought* 
instead of what we really are, for 

u All the world’s a stage, 

And all the men and women merely players.” 

Every thing that is of us, yields to the cunning devices 
of the mind, except the voice. 

-8. The tones which belong to particular emotions, 
cannot be altogether suppressed; nor can the most con¬ 
summate hypocrisy perfectly imitate those tones, where 
the emotions do not exist. Hence it is, that the pure* 
the simple, the upright, the sincere, need no vouchers ; 
they have only to speak, and the tones of their voice 
beget at once implicit faith. Deception may practice 
her wiles in every other way, she may force the eye 
to weep, the lips to smile, the tongue to utter false 
words, but she essays in vain to subdue entirely the 
tones of the voice. At every moment they rebel in 
favor of truth. 

9. From old age we need no declarations of decay¬ 
ed sensibilities, of indifference to the excitements of 
the younger world, of loved repose ; this stage of mor¬ 
tality has its own tones, which convey the sad truth 
of decay, in despite of all the treasured phrases of for¬ 
mer and more vigorous habits. 

' 10. Between friends, lovers, parents, and children, 

in all the dearer relationships of life, mere words are 
“as idle wind,' - ’ that passes unheeded by it is to the 
tones of the voice that they listen—-those ever true 
messengers between mind and mind, and heart and 
heart. Even in our slighter intercourse with the 
world, the attractions and aversions w r hich we feel to* 
wards particular persons, depend, more than upon any 
thing else, perhaps, on the impressions received from 
the tones of the voice. 

11. That eloquence which rivets every eye of an 


FOR EXERCISES. 


257 


immense assembly on the speaker, and makes every 
bosom swell with his own ; that acting which hushes 
an audience into death-like silence, and bathes every 
eye in tears, does not depend upon the mere words, 
the attitudes, and gesticulations ; but upon the voice . 
These are the mere outlines ; the orator’s and the ac¬ 
tor’s impassioned tones perfect the figures, put on the 
coloring and shadow, and give the picture its life and 
beauty. 

12. At every stage of life, under the influence of ev¬ 
ery passion, amidst all the various scenes of business, of 
love, of hate, of enjoyment, and of misery, the tones 
of the voice, and they only , denote us truly. 


ADVANTAGES OF KNOWLEDGE.— Rev. R. Hall. 

1. Knowledge in general, expands the mind, exalts 
the faculties, refines the taste of pleasure, and opens 
innumerable sources of intellectual enjoyment. 

2. By means of it, we become less dependent for 
satisfaction upon the sensitive appetites ; the gross 
pleasures of sense are more easily despised, and we 
are made to feel the superiority of the spiritual to the 
material part of our nature. Instead of being contin¬ 
ually solicited by the influence and irritation of sensi¬ 
ble objects, the mind can retire within herself, and ex¬ 
patiate in the cool and quiet walks of contemplation. 

3. The poor man who can read, and who possesses 
a taste for reading, can find entertainment at home, 
without being tempted to repair to the public house for 
that purpose. His mind can find him employment, 
when his body is at rest; he does not lie prostrate and 
afloat on the current of incidents, liable to be carried 
whithersoever the impulse of appetite may direct. 

4. There is in the mind of such a man an intellectual 
spring, urging him to the pursuit o $ mental good ; and 
if tlmminds of his family also are a little cultivated, 
conversation becomes the more interesting, and the 

22 * 






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sphere of domestic enjoyment enlarged. The calm 
satisfaction which books afford, puts him into a disposi¬ 
tion to relish more exquisitely, the tranquil delight in¬ 
separable from the indulgence of conjugal and parental 
affection ; and as he will be more respectable in the 
eyes of his family, than he who can teach them noth¬ 
ing, he will be naturally induced, to cultivate whatever 
may preserve, and shun whatever would impair, that 
respect. 

5. He who is inured to reflection, will carry his 
views beyond the present hour ; he will extend his 
prospect a little into futurity, and be disposed to make 
some provision for his approaching wants ; whence 
will result an increased motive to industry, together 
with a care to husband his earnings, and to avoid unne¬ 
cessary expense. The poor man who has gained a 
taste for good books, will in all likelihood become 
thoughtful ; and when you have given the poor a habit 
of thinking, you have conferred on them a much great¬ 
er favor than by the gift of a large sum of money, since 
you have put them in possession of the principle of all 
legitimate prosperity. 

6. Ignorance gives a sort of eternity to prejudice, 
and perpetuity, to error. When a baleful superstition, 
like that of the church of Rome, has once got footing 
among a people in this situation, it becomes next to im¬ 
possible to eradicate it ; for it can only be assailed with 
success by the weapons of reason and argument, and 
to these weapons it is impassive. The sword of ethe¬ 
real temper loses its edge, when tried on the scaly hide 
of this leviathan. No wonder the church of Rome is 
such a friend to ignorance ! it is but paying the ar¬ 
rears of gratitude, in which she is deeply indebted. 
How is it possible for her not to hate that light which 
would unveil her impostures and detect her enormities'? 

The Rev. Robert Hall, from one of whose sermons, the above 
excellent remarks in favor of intellectul culture, are extracted, 
was born at Arnsby, near Leicester, on the 2d of May, 1764, and 
died on the 21st o( February 1831. Mr. Hall admired, as I do, 
Plato’s definition of education, as “ that which qualifies men to be 
good citizens, and renders them fit to govern or to obey.” Mr. 
Hall was a finished preacher, and an exquisite and tasteful writer. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


259 


CORRECT READING.— Western Observer . 

1. Every person feels the power of a good reader, 
or I should say, would feel this power, if every body 
could be so fortunate as to hear good reading. Faults, 
disagreeble to both the reader and hearer, abound. 
They result from carelessness, and ignorance of very 
simple and intelligible principles, on which excellence 
in reading depends. Many read as if they thought the 
nose was the principal organ of speech, and that noth¬ 
ing could be said well, unless it were delightfully twang¬ 
ed through the nostrils. 

2. Many never vary the tones of their voice more 
than three or four notes of the musical scale, and yet, 
while they wonder why their reading is dull, they, at 
the same time, praise up the reading of those whose 
only excellence is that they run their voices through 
an octave. Almost every person can do this, and give 
vivacity to their reading if they only try. 

3. Many will bring out their voices with so great a 
degree of aspiration, that they seem to have struck a me¬ 
dium between whispering and speaking aloud. Many 
others, it would seem from their fondness for music, 
will add a musical note to the aid of a speaking one, at 
regular intervals or on favorite words ; and by trying 
to combine speaking and singing, they are sure to spoil 
both. 

4. Many seem to be afraid of hearing their own voi¬ 
ces, and afraid that listeners may hear them. To make 
sure of not being heard, they will avoid laying any 
stress upon their words, especially upon words w'hich 
it is most important to emphasize, in order to be un¬ 
derstood, and hurry onw^ard as if a reader was to be 
approved of like a horse, according to the speed with 
which they can get along. 

5. Others, on the other hand, intending to be sure 
to be heard, raise their voices to the highest possible 
pitch, with the strongest possible stress upon almost 
every word ; and thus by trying to, make every word 


260 


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emphatic, they destroy the power of the really em¬ 
phatic words. By straining their voices on one key, 
they deprive themselves and their hearers of the luxury 
of varied pitch and force; and they soon ruin their lungs 
if they read or speak much, and sooner still ruin their 
reputation with all sensible people as good readers. 

0. Some never use any other inflection than the ri¬ 
sing—a practice which imparts much dignity and strong 
emphasis in reading. Others use scarcely a single ri¬ 
sing inflection ; this is, however, not so common. The 
effect is good in reading grave passages, but in other 
cases, the practice will turn a lively sentiment into a 
kind of ridiculous, mock solemnity. Some use only the 
semitonic movement of the voice, like the mourning 
dove and owl; and the effect of their reading on the 
feelings, is not a little like the notes of those birds— 
pleasing to a person disposed to cherish melancholy— 
but inasmuch as mankind are usually of a more cheer-, 
fui disposition, or at least would be glad to be, such 
habits of voice are generally disagreeable, and attribiv* 
ted to a whining, petulent temper. 

7. Some, bv using the unequal wave of the voice in 
every long syllable, will express a sovereign contempt 
of their hearers or of what they read. Such readers 
may think themselves dignified; but the only reason they 
have for thinking so is, that they can give themselves 
a seeming elevation, by treating all around them with 
utter disdain. Others, attempting to be very winning 
and good natured, will drawl their voices upon every 
important word, and with the equal wave or circum¬ 
flex. The words, oh yes, for example, are drawled 
and waved by such persons into o-ho ya-as. The ef¬ 
fect of this mode of reading is to destroy all dignity, 
force, and manliness. It is a habit which marks either 
extreme silliness clownishness, or affected good nature, 
I might add many other faults of readers, particularly 
of those ridiculous habits in reading poetry, which are 
of so frequent occurrence. 

8. These, however, are some of the principal faults 
of readers and speakers, which I shall at present des¬ 
cribe. Many of these are frequently combined in the 


FOR EXERCISES. 


261 


same person, and make him an insufferably bad reader. 
Perhaps the most common and the worst qualities are 
drawling, want of variety in the pitch, a failure in giv¬ 
ing due time to emphatic syllables, the nasal tw^ang, 
which is very common, the habit of reading with a fee- 
! ble voice, a habit which a little effort in exercising and 
I bringingout the voice, will overcome, and mixing sing¬ 
ing with reading. 

9. Let every one who is desirous of reading well, 
examine his own peculiar habits of reading, and get 
the assistance of others in this thing. A bad voice is 
usually nothing but a bad habit of bringing out sounds. 
No person is obliged to twang sounds in the nose—it 
is a mere habit. Every person may run though an oc¬ 
tave in the pitch of his voice, and thus avoid the sleepy 
monotony which is so common. So of almost every 
bad quality of voice, by trying with proper rules, and 
the judicious criticisms of others to assist our own ears, 
w’e may very soon, from a very poor voice, manufac¬ 
ture, or get up a good one ; or if w T e have good quali¬ 
ties of voice already, greatly increase our skill in using 
them. 


ORATORY.— Knowles. 

The cause of our not generally excelling in oratory, 
is, our neglecting to cultivate the art of speaking—of 
speaking our own language. We acquire the power 
of expressing our ideas, almost insensibly; we consider 
it as a thing that is natural to us ; we do not regard 
it as an art. It is an art— a difficult art—an intricate 
art, and our ignorance of that circumstance, or our 
omitting to give it due consideration, is the cause ot our 
deficiency. 

2. In the infant, just beginning to articulate, you 
will observe every inflection that is recognized in the 
most accurate treatise on elocution—you will, observe 
farther, an exact proportion in its several cadences,. 





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and a speaking expression in its tones. Select a dozen 
men, men of education, erudition : ask them to read a 
piece of animated composition ; you will be fortunate, 
if you find one in a dozen, that can raise or depress his 
voice, inflect or modulate it, as the variety of the sub¬ 
ject requires. 

3. What has become of the inflections, the cadences, 
and the modulation of the infant? They have not 
been exercised; they have been neglected; they have 
never been put into the hands of the artist, that he 
might apply them to their proper use; they have been 
laid aside, spoiled, abused; and, ten to one, they will 
never be good for any thing ! 

4. Oratory is highly useful to him that excels in it. 
In common conversation, observe the advantage which 
the fluent speaker enjoys over the man that hesitates 
and stumbles in discourse. With half his information, 
he has twice his importance ; he commands the respect 
of his auditors ; he instructs and gratifies them. In 
the general transactions of business, the same superi¬ 
ority attends him. 

5. He communicates his views with clearness, pre¬ 
cision, and effect ; he carries his point by his mere 
readiness; he concludes his treaty before another kind 
of man would have well set about it. Does he plead 
the cause of friendship ? how happy is his friend ! Of 
charity ? how fortunate are the distressed ! Should 
he enter the senate of his country, he gives strength 
to the party which he espouses. Should he be inde¬ 
pendent of party, he is a party in himself. 

James Sheridan Knowles, the writer of the “ Debate on the 
Character of Julius Caesar^” from which the above most excellent 
extract is taken, is a native of Cork, in Ireland, and is now (in 
the year 1839) about fifty-two years old. He has taught elocu¬ 
tion to some of the most distinguished orators of his native coun¬ 
try. As a dramatic writer, he is inferior only to Shakspeare, 


FOR EXERCISES. 


263 


THANATOPSIS.— Bryant . 

L To him who in the love of nature, holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language. For his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile, 

And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides 
Into his darker musings, with a mild 
And gentle sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. 

2. When thoughts 

Of the last bitter hour, come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 

And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart,— 
Go forth unto the open sky, and list 
To nature's teachings, while from all around— 
Earth, and her waters, and the depths of air— 
Comes a still voice:—Yet a few days, and thee, 
The all beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course. 


3. Nor yet in the cold ground, 

Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; 

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mix forever with the elements, 

To be a brother to the insensible rock, 

And the sluggish clod which the rude swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. 


4. The oak 

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 


264 


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Yet not to thy eternal resting place 
Shalt thou retire alone,—nor couldst thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings, 
The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good, 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 

All in one mighty sepulchre. 

.5. The hills, 

Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun ; the vales, 
Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 

The venerable woods ; rivers that move 
In majesty ; and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green; and, poured round 
all, 

Old ocean’s grey and melancholy waste,— 

Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man. 

6. The golden sun, 

The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 

Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 

Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
The globe, are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 

Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
Save his own dashings,—yet, the dead are there ; 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep-^the dead reign there alone. 

7. So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou shalt fall 
Unnoticed by the living, and no friend 

Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe, 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 
His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 


FOR EXERCISES. 265 

Their mirth and their employments, and shall 
come 

And make their bed with thee. 

8. As the long train 

Of ages glides away, the sons of men, 

The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 
The bowed with age, the infant in the smiles 
And beauty of its innocent age, cut off, 

Shall, one by one, be gathered to thv side, 

By those, who, in their turn, shall follow them. 


0. So live, that, when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan that moves 
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall 
take 

His chamber in the silent halls of death, 

Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon ; but, sustained and 
soothed 

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 


William Cullen Bryant, by whom Thanatopsis was written, has 
been justly styled the Thompson of America. His poetic effu¬ 
sions are deeply imbued with the pathos of nature. The New 
Yorker, of April 16, 1836, contains a valuable article on American 
poets, in the course of which, it is truly observed, that: “ Thana¬ 
topsis, the mosi beautiful among his productions, though breath¬ 
ing the same spirit, we consider superior to the poetry of Thomp¬ 
son, in the richness of its coloring, and the grouping of its objects; 
the imagery is concentrated and finished, chaste and smooth. 
The poet, while standing by the grave of humanity, illumines its 
dairkness with the splendors of the universe, reconciles us to it by 
displaying its various inhabitants, and closes the solemn sepul¬ 
chral hymn, if so we may call it, by warning us, in the language 
of poetic and moral eloquence, to prepare for the final enemy. 

As one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.” 

23 


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Thanatopsis should be read or recited on rather a low key, with 
slow time, and long quantity. 


THE EFFECTIVE PREACHER.— Rev. George 
Shepard . 

1. The preacher’s manner of speaking is to be cul¬ 
tivated ; the voice, attitude, action, expression. There 
is great power in these. Whitefield may be adduced 
as an illustration of the wonderful power of manner. 
He studied manner until he became a perfect master 
of it. In most cases, if not all, assiduous cultivation 
and practice are necessary to secure a significant and 
forcible manner. 

2. Yet most seem to think, that the power of ad¬ 
dress, if it comes at all, must come without labor, 
come spontaneously. If God intended that any should 
be orators, he caused them to be born orators ; a per¬ 
verse and wilful error, persisted in against nearly all 
the gathered light and remonstance of past and present 
example. 

3. All the finished and potent speakers of ancient 
time, became such, by an attention to the manner, a 
toil in practice, which ended only with life ; and still 
we v will have it, that we can perform successfully all 
the high functions of the orator, on the most thrilling 
and momentous themes, with the untutored voice, and 
the clumsey joints, and the unpractised limbs of nature, 
corrupted and made worse by that second nature, 
early habit. 

4. It is by this heedless, lazy throwing of this whole 
great concern on the drifting tide of chance, that we 
come so far short in the use of one of the mightiest 
means of influence and of good of which God has made 
us capable. It is indispensable, that there be in the 
candidate for the ministry, a zealous study of this 
thing, an incessant drilling and exposure, if he would 
arrest attention, and make effective on the heart, the 
matter he prepares. 



FOR EXERCISES. 


267 


Rev. Mr. Shepard, from whose discourse on “ The Effective 
Preacher,'’ the above extract is taken, is Professor of Sacred Rhe¬ 
toric, in the Theological Seminary, at Bangor, in Maine. The 
discourse is published in the American Biblical Repository. 


THE UNION OF THE STATESMAN AND THE 
MAN OF LETTERS.—JV*. Biddle . 

1. Of the ancient and modern world, the best model 
of the union of the man of letters and the statesman, 
was he with whose writings your studies have made 
you familiar—Cicero. The most diligent researches, 
the most various acquirements, prepared him for the 
active career of public life, which he mingled with la¬ 
borious studies, so as never, for a moment, to diminish 
the vigor of his public character. 

2. How often and how well he served his country, 
all history attests. When the arts and the arms of 
Cataline had nearly destroyed the freedom of Rome, 
it was this great man of letters who threw himself into 
the midst of the band of desperate conspirators, and 
by his single intrepidity and eloquence, rescued the re¬ 
public. 

3. When that more noble and dangerous criminal, 
Caesar, broke down the public liberty ; after vainly 
striving to resist the tide of infatuation, Cicero retired 
to his farm, where he composed those deep philosophi¬ 
cal works which have been the admiration of all suc¬ 
ceeding time. 

4. But they could not avert his heart from his coun¬ 
try : and on that day, on that very hour, when the dag¬ 
ger of Casca avenged the freedom of Rome, he was in 
the Senate ; and the first words of Brutus on raising his 
bloody steel, were to call on Cicero—the noblest hom¬ 
age this, which patriotism ever paid to letters. 

5. Let it not diminish your admiration, that Cicero 
was proscribed and put to death. They who live for 
their country, must be prepared to die for it. For the 
same reason, hatred to those who enslaved his coun- 





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try his great predecessor, Demosthenes, shared a simi¬ 
lar fate. But both died in their country’s service ; 
and their great memories shall endure forever, long af¬ 
ter the loftiest structures of the proudest sovereigns. 

6. There were kings in Egypt who piled up enor¬ 
mous monuments with the vain hope of immortality. 
Their follies have survived their history. No mani 
can tell who built the pyramids. But the names of 
these great martyrs of human liberty, have been in all 
succeeding time the trumpet call to freedom. Each 
word which they have spoken is treasured, and has 
served to rally nations against their oppressors. 

This is an extract from Mr. Biddle’s Address, before the Alumni 
Association of Nassau Hall, Princeton, delivered September 30, 
1835. Learned men are generally, not to say always, true pat¬ 
riots, as were Cicero and Demosthenes. Let American youth 
walk in their footsteps, as statesmen as well as orators. 


ELOCUTION OF DIVINELY INSPIRED SPEAKERS. 

—Morning S tar. 

1. A multitude, even of learned men, have accus¬ 
tomed themselves to consider the sentiments of a pub¬ 
lic discourse of such comparative importance, as to cast 
the manner of their delivery altogether into the shade. 
That the sentiments of a public discourse are impor¬ 
tant none will pretend to deny ; and that the manner 
of delivering those sentiments is equally important, 
none ought to deny. There is no subject under heaven 
which furnishes a speaker with such a variety of rich 
ideas, such motives to move the human heart, as does 
the Christian religion ; and yet, perhaps, there is no 
subject on which its advocates, proportionately to their 
learning, ability, and room for effect, do actually exert 
so little influence. 

2. One of the remarkable characteristics of the Bi¬ 
ble, is its extreme silence in relation to small or unim¬ 
portant things. No matter how warmly men were 




FOR EXERCISES. 


269 


attached to the trifles of those ages in which the scrip¬ 
tures were written, the sacred pages scarcely allude 
to them. And as we are accustomed to appeal to the 
“ law and testimony for authority in all important re¬ 
ligious concerns, it may be well to reflect, that the Holy 
Spirit, who moved the sacred writers to record for us 
only the things of importance, has not passed the sub¬ 
ject of elocution in silence. So far from this, several 
important specimens of the manner in which the pro¬ 
phets, apostles, and the blessed Saviour spoke to men, 
suited to different circumstances and occasions, are 
given for our instruction and improvement. How then 
can a minister of the gospel excuse himself, in neglect¬ 
ing to search the scriptures for the purpose of under¬ 
standing and reducing to practice the unerring princi¬ 
ples which the great God has taught with regard to the 
manner of delivering his truth ] 

3. Moses, though free from the vanity of ostenta¬ 
tion, considered the fact of his being “ slow of speech,” 
a sufficient fault to exclude him from the office of a 
public speaker; and though the Lord reproved his un¬ 
belief in supposing that He who sent him would not ei¬ 
ther remove or counterbalance this defect, yet he seems 
to have approved of Moses’ opinion that slowness of 
speech was a serious fault, by saying to him: “ Aaron , 
l know can speak well , and he shall be thy spokesman , 
and he shall be to thee instead of a mouth” The Holy 
Ghost on a certain occasion, also gave particular direc¬ 
tions to Isaiah in relation to the compass or fulness of 
his voice, saying: “ Cty aloud, , spare not, lift up thy 
voice like a trumpet” Again he said to Ezekiel: “ Cry 
and howl , smite with thy hand, and stamp with thy 
foot.” 

4. When David was pressed down with sorrow, in¬ 
stead of praying to God to attend to his supplications, 
he besought him to attend to the VOICE of his suppli¬ 
cations; as though the pressure of grief had so changed 
the character of his tones, that their peculiar plaintive 
expressions would tell more of the fervency of his pe¬ 
titions, than his language possibly could. The pro¬ 
phet Jeremiah, while speaking of the invasion of Egypt 

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by the Chaldeans, said : “ The voice of Egypt should 
go forth like a serpent ;” by which we are taught that 
the guilt and confusion of Egypt, were such that they 
would not have the boldness to use pure speech, but 
would make a kind of muttering which would approach 
the hissing of a serpent. This teaches us, that if one 
would successfully persuade men, he should not mum¬ 
ble his words as though his cause was wrapped up in 
confusion, but he should speak plainly. 

5. Again, the prophet speaks of the voice of those 
Jews,who escaped from Babylonian captivity, as though,j 
when they gave thanks to God, their animation and joy j 
were exhibited in some peculiar lones of speech.] 
Among several very severe complaints which God; 
made against Israel in the 23d chapter of Ezekiel, one] 
was, that “The voice of a multitude at ease, was in her.”j 
If this means an indifferent, unanimated, formal man¬ 
lier, then God" accounted the declaration of his truth 
in this style, a crime, and reproves it in the same sen-j 
tenee that he does idolatry. In the book of Daniel,, 
the peculiar tones of prince Darius, when he came to' : 
the lion’s den, are noticed in this passage: “ And when) 
he came to the den, he cried with a lamentable voice,”] 
&c. Jonah said he would “ sacrifice with a voice of 
thanksgiving.” 

6. From these and many other passages, it is evil 
dent that the inspired writers gave particular attention 5 
to the variations in the tones of the human voice, and 
distinctly noticed such as conveyed ideas of innocence 
and guilt, joy and sorrow, zeal and stupidity, thank-] 
fulness and ingratitude. 

7. Nor is the New Testament silent with regard to 
the manner in which He addressed men, “ who spake 
as never man spake.” In a number of instances, it is 
written of him, that he “ lifted'up his voice and cried 
aloud.” And when he met vast multitudes in a moun¬ 
tain, it is said that “ he opened his mouth and taught 
them.” Though this expression has" been ridiculed by 
unlearned infidels, it is perfectly understood and appro¬ 
ved by the critical elocutionist. The eloquent White- 
field, in a sermon which he preached in this country, 


FOR EXERCISES. 


271 


remarked that there had lately been a great stir in one 
of the,chapels of England, under the preaching of a 
certain bishop : but, said he, it was not on account of 
the power of his preaching, but because he spoke so 
low that the people could not hear what he said, and 
the stir was a movement toward the pulpit, in order to 
understand what was spoken. Said Whitefield: “ He 
did not open his mouthy 

8. But it must be acknowledged that we are very 
liable to mistake the meaning of these arid similar scrip¬ 
tures. Truth is not to be attained on any subject, with¬ 
out labor and diligent search. Even the inspired pro¬ 
phets who wrote of the coming of Christ, had to search 
to ascertain what or what manner of time the spirit 
which was in them did testify, that Christ should come. 
And for want of similar precaution and examination, 
many of the principles of the Bible have been misap¬ 
plied. Among others, the directions and examples in 
relation to the management of the voice in public speak¬ 
ing, have been misunderstood. Some, in their mistaken 
zeal, have accustomed themselves to speaking on so 
high a key, without due attention to the demands of 
nature, as to ruin their health, and atone for their mis¬ 
take by a premature death. Others, in view of this er- 

. ror, have inclined to the opposite extreme, and adopted 
so low, dull, and unanimated a style of delivery, as 
to render the truths they declare, perfectly powerless. 

9. Nothing is more certain, than that the effect of an 
address depends generally as much upon the manner 
as upon the matter. However good the ideas may be, 
unless the manner of presenting them is true to nature, 
judicious and unaffected, it is not in the power of hu¬ 
man nature to avoid feeling such a suspicion of decep¬ 
tion, as shall prevent the natural response of the heart. 
A little reflection must convince every intelligent per¬ 
son, that a continued loud tone of voice was not the elo¬ 
cution of the inspired ancients ; for such a method of 
speaking is contrary to nature, ruinous to health, and 
generally painful to the hearers, having a tendency to 
awaken such sympathies on the one hand, or disgust 
on the other, as must divert the attention from the de- 


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sign of the discourse. Those who adopt a low, mo¬ 
notonous, formal method of .delivery, are equally guilty 
of disregarding the instructions of nature and the Bible. 

10. Hence it is highly necessary, that public speakers 
who would be useful and successful in persuading men, 
should understand the management of the human voice, 
and make elocution as much a subject of study, as any 
other science. The idea that the Holy Ghost will 
teach spiritual ministers how to manage their voices, 
has as little foundation in truth as has the idea that he 
will teach us any thing else, in order to save us the 
drudgery of study. 

11. When Paul told the Corinthians that he came 
not to them with excellency of speech, declaring unto 
them the counsel of God, he does not mean that he did 
not address them with “ words Jitly spoken” nor with 
truly excellent speech; but simply, that he did not 
move upon their passions and blind their eyes by those 
figures and arts of oratory which, among the Greeks 
and Romans, often pleased the imagination, while the 
judgment was uninformed, and the heart untouched. 
If, by eloquence, is meant the art of persuading, it is 
certainly an art which every minister of the gospel 
should cultivate in the best possible manner. 

12. The Greeks and Romans paid great attention to 
this branch of science, and this merely to obtain the 
glory of posthumous fame. Demosthenes is said to 
have paid his teacher the sum of $3,000 just for instruc¬ 
tion in the art of elocution. And to overcome his im¬ 
pediments, cultivate his voice, and strengthen his pow¬ 
ers of articulation, he would speak w T ith pebbles in his 
mouth, on a high key, in solitary places, amid the roar¬ 
ing of the waves of the sea. 

13. It is perfectly astonishing to the careful observer, 
to notice the extent of improvement of which our ca¬ 
pabilities are susceptible. All our faculties and powers 
both of body and mind, may be increased by cultiva¬ 
tion almost beyond limits. For example, a preacher 
who has so feeble a voice that he can never make a 
large assembly understand him, and can hardly preach 
three sermons in a week, may, by suitable and perse- 


FOR EXERCISES. 


273 


vering practice, so cultivate his powers of speech, as 
to create a voice almost entirely new, by which he 
would be able to preach daily with perfect ease. This 
may seem incredible, but it has been practically proved 
in numerous instances. 

This excellent article on the “ Elocution of Divinely Inspired 
Speakers,” was written by Elder David Marks, one of the editors 
of the “Morning Star.” 


PATIENCE, UNDER PROVOCATIONS, OUR 
INTEREST, AS WELL AS DUTY.— 

Dr. Blair. 

1. The wide circle of human society, is diversified 
by an endless variety of characters, dispositions, and 
passions. Uniformity is, in no respect, the genius of 
the world. Every man is marked by some peculiarity, 
which distinguishes him from another ; and no where 
can two individuals be found, who are exactly, and in 
all respects, alike. Where so much diversity obtains, 
it cannot but happen, that in the intercourse which 
men are obliged to maintain, their tempers will often 
be ill adjusted to that intercourse ; will jar, and inter¬ 
fere with each other. 

2. Hence, in every station, ihe highest as well as 
the lowest, and in every condition of life, public, pri¬ 
vate’ and domestic, occasions of irritation frequently 
arise. We are provoked, sometimes, by the folly and 
levity of those with whom we are connected ; sometimes 
by their indifference or neglect, by the incivility of a 
friend, the haughtiness of a superior, or the insolent 
behavior of one in a lower station. Hardly a day 
passes, without somewhat or other occurring, which 
serves to ruffle the man of impatient spirit. 

3. Of course, such a man lives in a continual storm. 
He knows not what it is to enjoy a train of good hu¬ 
mor. Servants, neighbors, friends, spouse, and chil¬ 
dren, all, through the unrestrained violence of his ten> 




274 


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per, become sources of disturbance and vexation to 
him. In vain is affluence ; in vain are health and 
prosperity. The least trifle is sufficient to discompose 
his mind, and poison his pleasures. His very amuse* 
ments are mixed with turbulence and passion. 

4. I would beseech this man to consider, of what 
small moment the provocations which he receives, or 
at least, imagines himself to receive, are really in 
themselves ; but of what great moment he makes 
them, by suffering them to deprive him of the posses¬ 
sion of himself. 1 would beseech him to consider, how 
many hours of happiness he throws away, which a lit¬ 
tle more patience would allow him to enjoy; and how 
much he puts it in the power of the most insignificant 
persons to render him miserable. “ But who can ex¬ 
pect,” we hear him exclaim, “ that he is to possess the 
insensibility'of a stone 'l How is it possible for human 
nature to endure so many repeated provocations, or 
to bear calmly with so unreasonable behavior V 1 

5. My brother ! if thou canst bear with no instances 
of unreasonable behavior, withdraw thyself from the 
world. Thou art no longer fit to live in it. Leave 
the intercourse of men. lletreat to the mountain, and 
the desert; or shut thyself up in a cell. For here, in 
the midst of society, “ offences must come.” We 
might as well expect, when we behold a calm atmos¬ 
phere and a clear sky, that no clouds were ever to 
rise, and no winds to blow, as that our life were long 
to proceed, without receiving provocations from human 
frailty. 

6. The careless and the imprudent, the giddy and 
the fickle, the ungrateful, and the interested, every 
where meet us. They are the briars and thorns with 
which the path of human life is beset. He only, who 
can hold his course among them with patience and 
equanimity, he who is prepared to bear what he must 
expect to happen, is worthy the name of a man. 

7. If we preserved ourselves composed but for a 
moment, we should perceive the insignificancy of most 
of those provocations which we magnify so highly. 
When a few suns more have rolled over our heads, the 


FOR EXERCISES. 


273 


storm will, of itself, have subsided ; the cause of our 
jresent impatience and disturbance, will be utterly for¬ 
gotten. Can we not, then, anticipate this hour of calm- 
less to ourselves ; and begin to enjoy the peace which 
t will certainly bring 1 

8. If others have behaved improperly, let us leave 
;hem to their own folly, without becoming the victim 
)f their caprice, and punishing ourselves on their ac¬ 
count. Patience, in this exercise of it, cannot be too 
much studied by all who wish their life to flow in a 
smooth stream. It is the reason of a man, in opposi¬ 
tion to the passion of a child. It is the enjoyment of 
peace, in opposition to uproar and confusion. 

Dr. Hugh Blair, from one of whose sermons this extract is ta¬ 
ken, was born at Edinburgh, in the year 1718. He was licensed 
to preach by the Presbytery of that city, in 1741. In 1762, he 
was appointed Prefessor of Rhetoric and Belles Lettres, in the 
Edinburgh University. He acquired great distinction, and was 
eminently useful, both as a speaker and a writer. 

His sermons and his lectures upon rhetoric, are written in a style 
which few authors have equalled, and which, for perspicuity and 
elegance, none have surpassed. He died at the age of eighty-two 
years. 

The advice given in the extract, is very salutary. We ought 
to meet all the ills of life without a murmur. The above piece 
should be read in a colloquial manner. 


AMERICAN PRESIDENTS. 

1. George Washington was born 22nd February, 

1732. He lived at Mount Vernon, Fairfax county, 
Virginia ; was elected President of the United States, 
in 1789, at the age of 57 years ; and died December 
14th, 1799, 67 years of age. ^ 

2. John Adams was born 19th October, 1735. rle 
lived at Quincy, Norfolk county, Massachusetts ; was 
elected President of the United States, in 1797, aged 
62 ; and died July 4th, 1S26, at 6 o’clock in the after¬ 
noon, almost 91 years old. 


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3. Thomas Jefferson was born In Chesterfield 
county, 2nd April, 1743. He lived at Monticello, Al¬ 
bemarle county, Virginia ; was elected President of 
the United States, in 1801, at the age of 58 years ; and 
died July 4th, 1826, at one o’clock in the afternoon, 
on the same day, and five hours before President 
Adams died ; he was 83 years, 3 months, and 2 days 
old. 

4. James Madison was born in 1756. He lived at 
Montpelier, Orange county, Virginia ; was elected 
President of the United States, in 1809, at the age of 
53 years. He died 28th June, in the year 1836. 

5. James Monroe was born in 1758. He lived in 
Loudon county, Virginia ; was elected President of 
the United State's, in 1817, aged 59. Having but little 
property, and losing his affectionate wife by death, 
September 23rd, 1830, in November of the same year, 
he went to New York, to spend the winter with his 
daughter and son-in-law, Mr. Governeur, and died 
there on the 4th of July, 1831, at the age of 73. 
This is the third President who has died on the day 
of the month American Independence was declaimed. 

6. John Quincy Adams, son of John Adams, was 
born July 11, 1767. He lives at Quincy, Norfolk 
county, Massachusetts ; was elected President of the’ 
United States, 9th February, 1825, by the House of 
Representatives, at the age of 58 years. Mr. Adams] 
was Secretary of Legation to Judge Dana, Minister to 
Russia, at the age of 14 years ; appointed Ambassador 
to the Hague when 27 ; Minister to Russia, in 1816 ; 
and Secretary of State of the United States, in 1817 ; 
being called from Russia for that purpose, by Presi¬ 
dent Monroe. 

7. Andrew.Jackson was born in South Carolina, 
in 1767. He lives in Nashville, Davidson county,Ten- 
nesee ; was elected President of the United States, in 
1829, at the age of 62. 

8. Martin Van Buren was born at Kinderhook, 
in the State of New York, in 1782. He was elected 
President of the United States, in the year 1837. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


277 


THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. — Alexander Pope. 

1. Father of all! in every age, 

In every clime, adored, 

By saint, by savage, and by sage, 

Jehovah, Jove, or Lord ! 

2. Thou great First Cause, least understood. 

Who all my sense confined 
To know but this, that Thou art good., 

And that myself am blind ; 

3. Yet gave me in this dark estate, 

To see the good from ill; 

And binding nature fast in fate, 

Left free the human will. 

4. What conscience dictates to be done, 

Or warns me not to do, 

This, teach me more than hell, to shun, 

That, more than heaven, pursue 

5. What blessings thy free bounty gives, 

Let me not cast away ; 

For God is paid, when man receives ; 

To enjoy, is to obey. 

6. Yet not to earth’s contracted span, 

Thy goodness let me bound, 

Or think thee Lord alone of man, 

When thousand worlds are round. 

7. Let not this weak, unknowing hand 

Presume thy bolts to throw ; 

And deal damnation round the land, 

On each I judge thy foe. 

6. If I am right, thy grace impart. 

Still in the right to stay ; 

24 


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If I am wrong, Oh ! teach my heart 
To find that better way l 

ft. Save me alike from foolish pride, 

Or impious discontent, 

At aught thy wisdom has denied. 

Or aught thy goodness lent. 

10. Teach me to feel another’s wo. 

To hide the fault 1 see; 

That mercy I to others show, 

That mercy show to me. 

11. Mean tho’ I am, not wholly so, 

Since quicken’d by thy breath ; 

O, lead me wheresoe’er I go, 

Thro’ this day’s life or death 1 

12. This day be bread and peace my lot ; 

All else beneath the sun, 

Thou know’st if best bestow’d or not, 

And let thy will be done 

13. To thee, whose temple is all space. 

Whose altar, earth, sea, skies ! 

One chorus let all beings raise l 
All nature’s incense rise. 

Alexander Pope was born at London, in the year 1718. He 
possessed great poetical talents. His “ Essay on Man” is very 
beautiful in language, and elaborate in disquisition. His ‘‘Univer¬ 
sal Prayer” is a production of no ordinary merit. It should not 
be read in a hurried manner, and yet with earnestness. Pope was 
crooked , and when tauntingly told so, he would say : “ God mend 
me.” His constitution was feeble, but by being temperate, he 
lived until the 56th year of his age. 




FOR EXERCISES. 


279 


REFLECTIONS AT SEA.— JV[alcom . 

1. Amid the numerous discomforts of a long sea voy¬ 
age, one is thrown upon his own resources, both for 
improvement and pleasure. But the mind, accustom¬ 
ed to view with intelligent and devout contemplation 
the works of God, can seldom be without materials for 
lofty and purifying thought. And surely the wide 
ocean and wider sky present a rich field for the expa- 
tiation of our noblest thoughts. 

2. Pacing the deck, or leaning against the bulwarks, 
toward setting sun, it would seem as though the most 
gross and thoughtless mind must rise, and expand, and 
feel delight. Far and near rolls “old ocean.” Be¬ 
fore Jehovah spread out the fairer scenery of the dry 
land, these restless billows swelled and sparkled be¬ 
neath the new-made firmament. 

3. Thousands of years their wide expanse remained 
a trackless waste, 

“ Unconquerable, unreposed, untired, 

And rolled the wild, profound, eternal bass, 

In nature’s anthem.” 

The storm then found no daring mariner to brave its 
fury, and the gentle breeze no repose on the fair can¬ 
vass of the lordly ship. Age after age, the fowls of 
heaven and the tenants of the deep, held undisputed 
empire. 

4. But now, every ocean is added to the dominion 
of man. He captures its rulers, he makes its surges 
his highway, and so dexterously adjusts his spreading 
canvass, as to proceed, in the very lace of the winds, 
to his desired haven. But Oh ! how many have found 
in these same billows, a grave ! How many a gallant 
ship has “ sunk like lead in the mighty waters,” where 
beauty and vigor, wealth and venerableness, learning 
and piety, find undistinguished graves ! 

5. To these lone deserts of pure waters, man pur¬ 
sues his brother with murderous intent ; the silence is 


280 


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broken by thundering cannon ; the billows bear away 
the stain of gore, and all that storm ever swallowed 
up, have been outnumbered by the victims of a battle. 
O, war! when will thy horrid banner be forever 
furled ! 

6. Reflection, following the chasing waves, passes 
on to the shores they lave, and there looks over na¬ 
tions, and beholds men in their manners, customs, fol¬ 
lies, and crimes, their loves and hates, their joys and 
sorrows, their enthusiastic pursuit of wealth, and ama¬ 
zing disregard of Heaven. How interminable and 
salutary are the thoughts thou inspirest,, ocean ! whe¬ 
ther we regard thy age, thy beauties, thy silence, thy 
treasures, thy services to man, thy praise to God, or 
the seenes which have been acted on thy surface ! 

7. But While we thus muse and speculate, the glo¬ 
ries of sunset fade into sober gray, the billows take a 
deeper tinge, stars multiply, and soon we stand be¬ 
neath the firmament glowing with ten thousand fires. 
Here are vaster, sublimer fields for thought. 

8. “ Hail, Source of Being ! Universal Soul 

Of heaven and earth ! Essential Presence, hail '! 
To Thee I bend the knee ; to Thee my thoughts 
Continual climb ; who, with a master hand, 

Hast the great whole into perfection touched.” 

9. How ennobling and purifying is the study of as¬ 
tronomy I How delicious the Christian’s hope of soon 
roaming among these works of infinite wisdom and 
power, ever learning, adoring, rejoicing, improving ; 
ever becoming more full of God, and of glory, and of 

joy- 

This- extract is from Rev. Howard Malcom’s “Travels in 
South Eastern Asia/' an interesting work, recently published in 
two volumes. 



FOR EXERCISES. 


281 


ANECDOTE OF DR. CHAUNCY .—Tudor. 

1. Dr. Cooper, who was a man of accomplished 
manners, and fond of society, was able, by the aid of 
his fine talents, to dispense with some of the severe 
study that others engaged in. This, however, did not 
escape the envy and malice of the world ; and it was 
said in a kind of petulent and absurd exaggeration, 
that he used to walk to the South-end of a Saturday, 
and if he saw a man riding into town in a black coat, 
would stop and ask him to preach the next day. Dr. 
Chauncy was a close student, very absent, and very 
irritable. On these traits in the character of the two 
clergymen, a servant of Dr. Chauncy laid a scheme 
for obtaining a particular object from his master. 

2. Scipio went into his master’s study one morning 

to receive some directions, which the doctor having 
given, resumed his writing, but the servant still reT- 
mained. The master, looking up a few minutes af¬ 
terwards, and supposing he had just come in, said : 
“ Scipio, what do you want !” “ I want a new coat, 

•massa.” “ Well, go to Mrs. Chauncy, and tell her to 
give you one of my old coats and he was again ab¬ 
sorbed in his studies. The servant remained fixed. 
After a while, the doctor, turning his eyes that way, 
saw him again, as if for the first time, and said : 

What do you want, Scip V’ “ I want a new coat, 
massa.” u Well, go to my wife, and ask her to give 
you one of my old coats and he fell to writing once 
more. 

3. Scipio remained in the same posture. After a 
few minutes, the doctor looked towards him, and re¬ 
peated the former question: “Scipio, what do you 
want 1” I want a new coat, massa.” It now flashed 
over the doctor’s mind, that there was something of 
repetition in this dialogue. “ Why, have I not told 
you before to ask Mrs. Chauncy to give you one? 
Get away.” “ Yes, massa, but I no want a black 
coat.” “ Not want a black coat! Why not“ Why, 


SELECT PIECES 


282 

massa, I ’fraid to tell you ; but l don't want a black 
coat.” “ What’s the reason you don’t want a black 
coat ? Tell me directly.” 

4. “Oh! massa, I don’t want a black coat ; but I 

’fraid to tell you the reason, you so passionate.” “ You 
rascal! will you tell me the reason 1” “ Oh ! massa, 

I’m sure you be angry.” “ If I had my cane here, 
you villain, I’d break your bones! Will you tell me 
what you mean V ’ “ I ’fraid to tell you, massa ; I 

know you be angry.” The doctor’s impatience was 
now highly irritated, and Scipio, perceiving by his 
glance at the tongs, that he might find a substitute for 
the cane, and that he was sufficiently excited, said : 
“ Well, massa, you make me tell, but I know you be 
angry. I ’fraid, massa, if I wear another black coat,. 
Dr. Cooper ask me to preach for him l” 

5. This unexpected termination, realized the servant's 
calculation ; his irritated master burst into a laugh : 
“ Go, you rascal, get my hat and cane, and tell Mrs. 
Chauncy she may give you a coat of any color ; a red 
one, if you choose.” Aw r ay went the negro to his 
mistress ; and the doctor, to tell the story to his friend. 
Dr. Cooper. 


IMPORTANCE OF ELOCUTIONARY POWERS 
TO THE LEGAL PROFESSION.— Warren. 

L Acquire the habit of good speaking, if you have 
it not; anxiously cultivate it, if you have. How lamen¬ 
table is it to see a man of great talent and learning, 
unable to acquit himself even creditably in this respect’ 
possibly on the most trivial occasions, rising embar¬ 
rassed, confused, stuttering, and stammering, uttering 
u vain and idle repetitions,” with the agonizing.accom- 
paniments of ‘ a-a-a,” and sitting down, bursting with 
vexation and disappointment! 


FOR EXERCISES. 


283 


2. However clear may be a man’s conceptions, how¬ 
ever consecutive his thoughts, however thorough and 
extensive his knowledge, he may yet exhibit the sorry 
spectacle above described, unless he be either natu¬ 
rally gifted with powers of eloquence, or has struggled 
early and successfully to supply his natural deficiencies, 

3. The first question to be asked a student at law, is 
one all important. Are his lungs equal to the severe 
task he is about to impose on them, of keeping them 
in almost constant play from morning till night? The 
bar requires signal strength in that organ. To have 
a strong, flexible, and harmonious voice, is a capital 
point ; but the question is, whether that on which the 
voice depends, can be relied upon. 

4. The pipes of an organ may be capable of giving 
out tones of great power and exquisite richness ; but 
what if the bellows beneath, be crazy and give way ? 
Let us ask, then, the student, whether there is an he¬ 
reditary tendency to consumption , in his family, of 
which symptoms, however slight, have been discovered 
in himself ? Because if so, coming to the bar, is down¬ 
right madness. Any honest and skilful medical man 
will tell him so. 

5. It is not the perpetual and often violent exercise 
of the voice alone ; it is the excitement , the ceaseless 
wearing of body and mind, that will kill him, as inevi¬ 
tably as it is encountered and persisted in. At the bar, 
the lungs are in incessant exercise, the consuming fire 
of excitement is ever kept up by eager, restless rivalry, 
fed by daily contests, public and harassing ; by anx¬ 
ieties that haunt the young lawyer, not during day 
only, but also the night. 


PITT’S REPLY TO WALPOLE. 

1. The atrocious crime of being a young man, which 
the honorable gentleman has, with such spirit and de¬ 
cency, charged upon me, I shall neither attempt to 



SELECT PIECES 


284 

palliate nor deny ; but content myself with wishing 
that I may be one of those whose follies may cease 
with their youth, and not of that number who are ig¬ 
norant in spite of experience. 

2. Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a 
reproach, I will not, Sir, assume the province of deter¬ 
mining ; but surely, age may become justly contempt¬ 
ible, if the opportunities which it brings have passed 
away without improvement, and vice appears to pre* 
vail when the passions have subsided. 

3. The wretch, who, after having seen the conse¬ 
quences of a thousand errors, continues still to blum 
der, and whose age has only added obstinacy to stu¬ 
pidity, is surely the object of either abhorrence or con¬ 
tempt, and deserves not that his grey hairs should se¬ 
cure him from insult. Much more, Sir, is he to be 
abhorred, who, as he advanced in age, has receded 
from virtue, and becomes more wicked with less temp¬ 
tation ; who prostitutes himself for money which he 
cannot enjoy, and spends the remains of his life in the 
ruin of his country. 

4. But youth, Sir, is not my only crime ; I have 
been accused of acting a theatrical part. A theatrical 
part may either imply some, peculiarities of gesture, 
or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and an adop¬ 
tion of the opinions and language of another man. 

5. In the first sense, Sir, the charge is too trifling 
to be confuted, and deserves only to he mentioned, to 
be despised. I am at libert3% like every other man, to 
use my own language ; and though, perhaps I may 
have some ambition to please this gentleman, I shall 
not lay myself under any restraint, nor very solicitously 
copy his diction, or his mein, however matured by age, 
or modelled by experience. 

G. If any man shall, by charging me with theatrical 
behavior, imply that I utter any sentiments but my 
own, I shall treat him as a calumniator and a villain*; 
nor shall any protection shelter him from the treat¬ 
ment he deserves. I shall, on such an occasion, with¬ 
out scruple, trample upon all those forms with which 
wealth and dignity intrench themselves ; nor shall any 


FOR EXERCISES. 


285 


thing but age, restrain my resentment—age, which 
always brings one privilege, that of being insolent and 
supercilious without punishment. 

7. But with regard. Sir, to those whom I have of¬ 
fended, I am of opinion, that if I had acted a borrowed 
part, I should have avoided their censure : the heat 
that offended them is the ardor of conviction, and that 
zeal for the service of my country, which neither hope 
nor fear shall influence me to suppress. I will not sit 
unconcerned while my liberty is invaded, nor look in 
silence, upon public robbery. I will exert my endeav¬ 
ors, at whatever hazard, to repel the aggressor, and 
drag the thief to justice, whoever may protect them 
in their villainy, and whoever may partake of their 
plunder. 

After Mr. Pitt., when he was a young 1 member of the House of 
Commons, had finished a speech, delivered with great energy, on 
an exciting topic, Mr. Walpole rose, and among other things, in 
which he charged the young orator with youthful inexperience 
and theatrical enunciation, said : “Formidable sounds and furious 
declamation, confident assertions and lofty periods, may affect the 
young and inexperienced ; and perhaps the honorable gentleman 
may have contracted his habits of oratory by conversing more 
with those of his own age, than with such as have had more op¬ 
portunities of acquiring knowledge, and more successful methods 
of communicating their sentiments.” The moment Mr. Walpole 
resumed his seat, Mr. Pitt made the above masterly and eloquent 
reply. The illustrious orator, no doubt, spoke on the occasion 
with more than his accustomed power, and probably with unusual 
rapidity. And as he delivered it, so should it be read or recited. 
It requires rather a high key, and a classical and manly style. 


CHARACTER OF GEORGE WASHINGTON.— 

Jefferson . 

1. His mind was great and powerful, without being 
of the verv first order ; his penetration strong, though 
not so acute as that of Newton, Bacon, or Locke ; 
and, as far as he saw, no judgment was ever sounder, 
It was slow in operation, being little aided by inven- 



286 


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tion or imagination ; but sure in conclusion. Hence 
it was the common remark of his officers, of the ad¬ 
vantage he derived from the councils of war, where, 
hearing all suggestions, he selected whatever was best; 
and, certainly, no General ever planned his battles more 
judiciously. 

2. But if deranged during the course of action ; if 
any member of his plan was dislocated by sudden cir¬ 
cumstances, he was slow in re-adjustment. The con¬ 
sequences were, that he often failed in the field ; and 
rarely against an enemy in station, as at Boston and 
York. He was incapable of fear, meeting personal 
dangers with the calmest unconcern. Perhaps the 
strongest feature in his character, was prudence ; never 
acting until every circumstance, every consideration, 
was maturely weighed ; refraining, if he saw a doubt; 
but when once decided, going through with his purpose, 
whatever obstacles opposed. 

3. His integrity was the most pure ; his justice, the 
most inflexible. I have never known any motives of 
interest, or consanguinity, or friendship, or hatred, be¬ 
ing able to bias his decision. He was, indeed, in every 
sense of the word, a wise, a good* and a great man. 
His temper was naturally irritable and high toned ; but 
reflection and resolution had obtained a firm and habit¬ 
ual ascendency over it. If ever, however, it broke its 
bounds, he was tremendous in his wrath. 

4. His heart was not warm in its affections ; but 
he exactly calculated every man’s value, and gave him 
a solid esteem, proportionate to it. His person, you 
know, was fine ; his stature, exactly what one would 
wish ; his deportment, easy, erect, and noble ; the best 
horseman of his age ; and the most graceful figure that 
could be seen on horseback. Although, in the circle 
of friends, where he might be unreserved with safety, 
lie took a free share in conversation, his colloquial ta¬ 
lents were not above mediocrity, possessing neither 
copiousness of ideas, nor fluency of words. 

5. In public, when called upon for a sudden opinion, 
he was unready, short, and embarrassed. Yet he 
wrote readily, rather diffusely, in correct style. This 


FOR EXERCISES. 


287 

he had acquired by conversation with the world ; for 
his education was merely reading, writing, and com* 
mon arithmetic, to which he added surveying, at a later 
day. His time was employed in action chiefly, read¬ 
ing little, and that only in agricultural and English his¬ 
tory. 

6. His correspondence became necessarily extensive, 
and, with journalizing his agricultural proceedings, oc¬ 
cupied most of his leisure hours within doors. On the 
whole, his character was, in its mass, perfect ; in no¬ 
thing, bad ; in few points, indifferent; and, it may 
truly be said, that never did nature and fortune com¬ 
bine more perfectly, to make a great man, and to 
place him in the same constellation with whatever 
worthies have merited from man, an everlasting re¬ 
membrance. 

7. For his was the singular destiny of leading the 
armies of his country successfully through an arduous 
war, for the establishment of its independence ; of 
conducting its councils through the birth of a govern¬ 
ment, new in its forms and principles, until it had set¬ 
tled down in a quiet and orderly train ; and of scru¬ 
pulously obeying the laws through the whole of its 
career, civil and military, of which the history of the 
world furnishes no other example. 


THE LAST HOURS OF WASHINGTON. 

from curtis’s recollections and private memoirs of 
THE general’s LIFE. 

1. Twenty-eight years have passed since an inter¬ 
esting group were assembled in the death-room, and 
witnessed the last hours of Washington. So keen and 
unsparing hath been the scythe of time, that of all 
(hose who watched over the patriarch’s couch, on the 
13th and 14th of December, 1799, not a single person¬ 
age survives. 




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2. On the morning of the 13th, the General was en¬ 
gaged in making some improvements in the front of 
Mount Vernon. As was usual with him, he carried 
his own compass, noticed his observations, and marked 
out the ground. The day became rainy, with sleet; 
and the improver remained so long exposed to the in¬ 
clemency of the weather, as to be considerably wetted 
before his return to the house. About one o’clock, he 
was seized with chillness and nausea, but having changed 
his clothes, he sat down to his in-door work—there be¬ 
ing no moment of his time for which he had not provi¬ 
ded an appropiate employment. 

3. At night, on joining his family circle, the General 
complained of a slight indisposition ; and after a single 
cup of tea. repairing to his library, where he remained 
writing until between 11 and 12 o’clock. Mrs. Wash¬ 
ington retired about the usual hour, but becoming 
alarmed at not hearing the accustomed sound of the 
library door as it closed for the night, and gave signal 
for rest in the well regulated mansion, she rose again, 
and continued sitting up, in much anxiety and suspense. 
At length, the well known step was heard on the stair, 
and upon the General’s entering his chamber, the lady 
chided him for staying up so late, knowing him to be 
unwell; to wnich Washington made this memorable 
reply : “ I came as soon as my business was accom¬ 
plished. You well know, that through a long life, it 
has been my unvaried rule, never to put off till the 
morrow, the duties which should be performed to-day T .” 

4. Having first covered the fire with care, the man 
of mighty labors sought repose ; but it came not, as it 
long had been wont to do, to comfort and restore after 
the many earnest occupations of the well spent 
day. The night was passed in feverish restlessness 
and pain. “ Tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy 
sleep,” was destined no more to visit his couch ; ye; 
the manly sufferer uttered no complaint, would permit 
no one to be disturbed in their rest, on his account ; 
and it was only at day-break he would consent that the 
overseer might be called in, and bleeding resorted to. 
A vein was opened, but no relief afforded. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


289 

! 6 - Couriers were despatched to Dr. Craik, the fam- 
Y physician, and Drs. Dick and Brown, as consulting 
physicians, all of whom, came with speed. The pro¬ 
per remedies were administered, but without produ¬ 
cing their healing effects ; while the patient, yielding 
to the anxious looks of all around him, waived his usual 
objections to medicines, and took those which were 
prescribed, without hesitation or remark. The medi¬ 
cal gentlemen spared not their skill,, and all the resour¬ 
ces of their art were exhausted in unwearied endea¬ 
vors to preserve this noblest work of nature. 

6. The night approached— the last night of Wash¬ 
ington ; the weather became severely cold, while the 
group gathered nearer to the couch of the sufferer, 
watching with intense anxiety for the slightest dawning 
of hope. He spoke but little. To the respectful and af¬ 
fectionate inquiries of an old family servant, as she 
smoothed down his pillow, how he felt, tie answered : 
“ I am very ill.” To Dr. Craik, his earliest compan¬ 
ion in arms, longest tried and bosom friend, he observ¬ 
ed : “I am dying, Sir—but 1 am not afraid to die.” 

7. To Mrs. Washington he said: “Go to my escri- 
toir and in my private drawer you will find two papers; 
bring them to me.” They were brought. He con¬ 
tinued : “ These are my wills—preserve this one and 
burn the otherwhich was accordingly done. Call¬ 
ing to Col. Lear, he directed : “ Let my corpse be kept 
for the usual period of three days.” 

8. Here we would beg leave to remind our readers, 
that, in a former part of this work, we have said, that 
Washington was old fashioned in some of his opinions; 
lor was he less to be admired on these accounts. The 
custom of keeping the dead for the scriptural period of 
three days, is derived from remote antiquity; and arose, 
lot from fear of premature interment, as in more mod¬ 
ern times, but from motives of veneration towards the 
ieceased ; for the better enabling the relatives and 
friends to assemble from a distance, to peform the fu~ 
leral rites ; for the pious watchings of the corpse, and 
or many sad, yet endearing ceremonies, with which 

25 


290 


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we delight to pay our last duties to the remains of those 
we loved. 

9. The patient bore his acute sufferings with forti¬ 
tude and perfect resignation to the Divine will, while, 
as the night advanced, it became evident that he was 
sinking, and he seemed fully aware that “ his hour was 
nigh.” He inquired the time, and was answered, a few 
minutes to twelve. He spoke no more—the hand ol 
death was upon him, and he was conscious that “ his 
hour was come.” With surprising self-possession, he 
prepared to die. Composing his form at length, and 
folding lbs arms upon his bosom, without a sigh, with¬ 
out a groan, the father of his country died. No pang 
nor struggle told when the noble spirit took its noise¬ 
less flight; while so tranquil appeared the manly fea¬ 
tures in the repose of death, that some moments had 
passed ere those around could believe that the patri¬ 
arch was no more. 

George Washington was the founder of the North American 
Republic, the first President of the United States, and an incorrup¬ 
tible patriot. His name needs no panegyric. It will live forever 
in the hearts of his countrymen. His fame rests on the adamant 
of good deeds. His best eulogy will be an imitation of his glorious 
example. It constitutes the most valuable portion of our national 
capital. His memory is immortal. To Washington, under God. 
we chiefly owe the manifold blessings of national independence 
and religious liberty. If, therefore, gratitude be due on earth, it 
is due to him. Let it fill every heart with thrilling exultation, and 
ascend to the holy habitation of Divinity. How large were his 
sacrifices of time, treasure, and care ! How gloriously did he with¬ 
stand the tempting whispers of demagogues ! How great was 
the intrepidity with which he dared the tyrant’s rage 1 With what 
fearlessness did he, before high heaven, renounce all allegiance tc 
George III and the British constitution ! With what wisdom he 
administered the United States’ government! With what fair- 
ness and fidelity he made and maintained treaties ! And with 
what moral sublimity did he live and die ! Let the history of his 
life answer. That is a bright and cheering picture upon which 
we should gaze and scan, until our minds take the hue of the splen¬ 
dors we contemplate. The city of Thebes rose to sudden eleva¬ 
tion, through the instrumentality of Epaminondas; but the mo- 
ment of his dissolution was the moment of her fall. Like Epami¬ 
nondas, the brightest name of all antiquity, Washington, the pe¬ 
culiar pride of modern times, exalted the glory of his country. 


FOR EXERCISES. 


291 


But here the comparison ends. The monuments of Thebes are 
crumbled in dust, and republicanism there slumbers in the grave 
)f oblivion ; but America still maintains the high and happy ground 
)n which Washington placed her. The banner, which, under hie 
tuspicies, waved in triumph over British tyranny, still mingles its 
olds with the stars and stripes of the Union. Let the spirit of 
i/Vashington’s patriotism pervade the people, and the Republic, 
hrough all time, is safe. 


THE HERMIT.— Beattie. 

1. At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, 

And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove ; 
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, 
And nought but the nightingale’s song in the 
grove, 

2. ’Twas thus by the cave of the mountain afar, 

While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began; 
No more with himself or with nature at war, 

He thought as a sage, tho’ he felt as a man. 

3. “ Ah! why, all abandon’d to darkness and wo; 

Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall I 
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow ; 

And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthral. 

4. “ But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay— 

Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to 
mourn ; 

O, sooth him whose pleasures, like thine, pass away: 
Full quickly they pass—but they never re¬ 
turn. 

5. “ Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, 

The moon, half extinguish’d, her cresent displays : 
But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high, 

' She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. 






292 SELECT PIECES 

6. “ Roil on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue 

The path that conducts thee to splendor again : 
But man’s faded glory, what change shall renew 1 
Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain ! 

7. “ ’Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more : 

1 mourn ; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not fo 
you ; 

For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, 
Perfum’d with fresh fragrance, and glitt’ring will 
dew. 

8. “ Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ; 

Kind nature, the embryo blossom will save : 

But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn ? 

O, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave 

9. ;£ ’Twas thus by the glare of false science betray’d 

That leads, to bewilder ; and dazzles, to blind ; 
My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward tc 
shade, 

Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 

10. “ O, pity, great Father of Light, then I cried* 
Thy creature, who fain would not wander from 

thee ! 

Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride : 

From doubt and from darkness thou only cansi 
free. 

11. “ And darkness and doubt are now' flying away : j 
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn ; 

So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, 

The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. 

12. “See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descend-! 

ing, i 

And nature all glowing in Eden’s first bloom ! 

On the cold cheek of death, smiles and roses are 
blending, 

And beauty immortal, awakes from the tomb.” 




FOR EXERCISES. 293 

* 

The “ Hermit” requires a low key, slow time, and long quan¬ 
tity. 


EXTRACT FROM PRESIDENT JEFFERSON'S 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

1. Daring the contest of opinion through which we 
have passed, the animation of discussions and of exer¬ 
tions has sometimes worn an aspect which might im¬ 
pose on strangers, unused to think freely, and to speak 
and to write what they think ; but this being now de¬ 
cided by the voice of the nation, announced according 
to the rules of the constitution, all will, of course, ar¬ 
range therhselves under the will of the law, and unite 
in common efforts for the common good. 

‘ 2. All, too, will bear in mind this sacred principle, 
that, though the will of the majority is, in all cases, to 
prevail, that will, to be rightful, must be reasonable ; 
that the minority possess their equal rights, which 
equal law’s must protect, and to violate which woukl 
be oppression. Let us then, fellow-citizens, unite with 
one heart and one mind. 

: 3. Let us restore to social intercourse that harmony 
and affection, without which liberty, and even life itself, 
are but dreary things ; and let us reflect, that, having 
banished from our land that religious intolerance under 
which mankind so long bled and suffered, we have yet 
gained little, if we countenance a political intolerance, 
as despotic, as wicked, and capable of as bitter and 
bloody persecutions. 

4. During the throes and convulsions of the ancient 
world ; during the agonizing spasms of infuriated man, 
seeking, through blood and slaughter, his long lost lib. 
erty ; it was not wonderful that the agitation of the 
billows should reach even this distant and peaceful 
shore ; that this should be more felt and feared by 
some, and less by others ; and should divide opinions, 
as to measures of safety. 

5. But every difference of opinion is not a difference 

2*5* 



SELECT PIECES 


2U 

of principle. We have called by different names, 
brethren of the same principle. We are all republi¬ 
cans ; we are all federalists. If there be any among 
us who would wish ta dissolve this Union, or to change 
its republican form, let them stand undisturbed, as 
monuments of the safety with which error of opinion 
may be tolerated, where reason is left free to combat it. 

Go I know, indeed, that some honest men fear that 
a republican government cannot be strong ; that this 
government is not strong enough. But would the hon¬ 
est patriot, in the full tide of successful experiment, 
abandon a government which has so far kept us free 
and firm, on the theoretic and visionary fear, that this 
government, the world's best hope, may, by possibility, 
want energy to preserve itself 1 I trust not; I believe 
this, on the contrary, the strongest government on 
earth. 

7, I believe it the only one where every man, at the 
call of the law, would fly to the standard of the law, 
and would meet invasions of the public order as his 
own personal concern. Sometimes it is said, that man 
cannot be trusted with the government of himself. 
Can he, then, be trusted with the government of oth¬ 
ers t or have we found angels, in the form of kings, to 
govern him ? Let history answer this question. 

9. Let us, then, with courage and confidence, pursue 
our ovyn federal and republican principles ; our attach¬ 
ment to union and representative government. Kindly 
Separated, by nature and a wide ocean, from the ex¬ 
terminating havoc of one quarter of the globe ; too 
high-minded to endure the degradations of the others ; 
possessing a chosen country, with room enough for 
our descendants to the thousandth and thousandth gen¬ 
eration ; entertaining a due sense of our equal right| 
to the use of our own faculties, to the acquisitions of 
our own industry, to honor and confidence from ouri 
fellovy-citizens, resulting not from birth, but from our! 
actions, and their sense of them ; enlightened by a be¬ 
nign religion, professed, indeed, and practised in various! 
forms, yet all of them inculcating honesty, truth, tem¬ 
perance, gratitude, and the love of man ; acknowledge 




FOR EXERCISES. 


295 


ing and adoring an overruling Providence, which, by 
all its dispensations, proves that it delights in the hap¬ 
piness of man here and hisgreater happiness hereafter; 
with all these blessings, what more is necessary to 
make us a happy and prosperous people 'l 

9. Still one thing more, fellow-citizens ; a wise and 
frugal government, which shall restrain men from in¬ 
juring one another ; shall leave them otherwise free to 
regulate their own pursuits of industry and improve¬ 
ment ; and shall not take from the mouth of labor, the 
bread it has earned. This is the sum of good govern¬ 
ment ; and this is necessary to close the circle of our 
felicities. 


EXTRACT FROM AN ORATION ON THE 
CROWN.— Demosthenes. 

1. But, since ASschines hath insisted so much upon 
the event, I shall hazard a bold assertion. But, in the 
name of heaven, let it not be deemed extravagant ; 
let it be weighed with candor. I say, then, that had 
we all known what fortune was to attend our efforts ; 
had we all foreseen the final issue ; had you foretold 
it, Aeschines, (you whose voice was never heard,) yet, 
even in such a*case, must this city have pursued the 
very same conduct, if she had retained a thought of 
glory, of her ancestors, or of future times. For, thus, 
she could only have been deemed unfortunate in her 
attempts ; and misfortunes are the lot of all men, 'when¬ 
ever it may please heaven to inflict them. 

2. But if that State, which once claimed the first rank 
in Greece, had resigned this rank, in time of danger, 
she had incurred the censure of betraying the whole 
nation to the enemy. If we had indeed given up those 
points without one blow, for which our fathers en¬ 
countered every peril, who would not have spurned 
you with scorn 1 You , the author of such conduct , not 


206 


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tiie State or me ? In the name of heaven, say with 
what face could we have met those foreigners who 
sometimes visit us, if such scandalous supineness on our 
part had brought affairs to their present situation I 

3. If Philip had been chosen general of the Grecian 
army, and some other State had drawn the sword 
against this insidious nomination, and fought the bat¬ 
tle, unassisted by the Athenians, that people, who, in 
ancient times, never preferred inglorious security to 
honorable danger I What part of Greece, what part 
of the barbarian world, has not heard, that the The¬ 
bans, in their period of success ; that the Lacedemoni¬ 
ans, whose power w r as older and more extensive ; that 
the king of Persia, would have cheerfully and joyfully 
consented, that this State should enjoy her own do¬ 
minions, together with an accession of territory ample 
as her wishes, upon this condition, that she should re¬ 
ceive law, and suffer another State to preside in Greece! 

4. But, to Athenians, this was a condition unbecoming 
their descent, intolerable to their spirit, repugnant to 
their nature. Athens was never once known to live 
in a slavish, though a secure obedience to unjust and 
arbitrary power. No : our whole history is one se¬ 
ries of noble contests for pre-eminence: the whole pe¬ 
riod of our existence hath been spent in braving dan¬ 
gers, for the sake of glory and renown. And so highly 
do you esteem such conduct, so consonant to the 
Athenian character, that those of your ancestors, who 
were most distinguished in the pursuit of it, are ever 
the most favorite objects of your praise. 

5. And with reason. For who can reflect without 
astonishment upon the magnanimity of those men, who 
resigned their lands, gave up their city, and embarked 
in their ships, to avoid the odious state of subjection ? 
Who chose Themistocles, the adviser of this conduct, 
to command their forces ; and, when Crysilus propo¬ 
sed that they should yield to the terms prescribed, 
stoned him to death 1 Nay, the public indignation was 
not yet allayed. Your very wives inflicted the same 
vengeance on his wife. 

6. For the Athenians of that day looked out for no 


FOR EXERCISES. 


297 


speaker, no General to procure them a state of prosper- 
ous slavery. They had the spirit to reject even life, 
unless they were allowed to enjoy that life in freedom. 
For it was a principle fixed deeply in every breast, that 
man was not born to his parents only, but to his coun¬ 
try. And mark the distinction. He who regards 
himself as’born only to his parents, waits in passive 
submission, for the hour of his natural dissolution. 
He who considers that he is the child of his country 
also, is prepared to meet his fate freely, rather than 
behold that country reduced to vassalage ; and thinks 
those insults and disgraces, which he must meet, in a 
State enslaved, much more terrible than death. 

7. Should 1 then attempt to assert, that it was I 
who inspired you with sentiments worthy of your an¬ 
cestors, I should meet the just resentment of every 
hearer. No : it is my point to shew that such senti¬ 
ments are properly your own ; that they were the 
sentiments of my country long before my days. I 
claim but my share of merit in having acted on such 
principles, in every part of my administration. He, 
then, who condemns every part of my administration ; 
he who directs you to treat me with severity, as one 
who hath involved the State in terrors and dangers, 
while he labors to deprive me of present honor, robs 
you of the applause of all posterity. 

8. For if you now pronounce, that, as my public 
conduct hath not been right, Ctesiphon must stand con¬ 
demned, it must be thought that you yourselves have 
acted wrong, not that you owe your present state to 
the caprice of fortune. But it cannot be ! No ! my 
countrymen ! it cannot be that you have acted wrong 
in encountering danger bravely, for the liberty and 
safety of all Greece. 

9. No : by those generous souls of ancient times, 
who were exposed at Marathon ! By those who stood 
arrayed at Plataea! By those who encountered the 
Persian fleet, at Salamis, who fought at Artemisium! 
By all those illustrious sons of Athens, w'hose remains 
lie deposited in /ho public monuments! all of whom 
received the same honorable interment from their coun- 




SELECT PIECES 


298 

try ; not those only who prevailed, not those only who 
were victorious. And with reason. What was the 
part of gallant men they all performed ! Their success 
was such as the Supreme Director of the world dis¬ 
pensed to each. 

The Oration of Demosthenes on the crown, from which the 
above extract is taken, is a master-piece of Grecian eloquence. 
yEschines accused Demosthenes with being the cause of all the 
evils which befel Athens. The extract contains the orator’s an¬ 
swer. It is a fine specimen of manly, argumentative, and impas¬ 
sioned style. The position which he labors to establish, is, that 
success is not always the result even of well directed efforts, t>ut 
the gift ot Heaven. Whether Demosthenes was correct in opin¬ 
ion or not, who does not admire the consummate skill with which 
he argues the point? May we not imagine that his elocution on 
that occasion, somewhat resembled Homer’s description of light¬ 
ning— 

“ By turns one flash succeeds, as one expires, 

And Heaven flames thick with momentary fires.” 

That monotony which prevails so generally among modern speak¬ 
ers, might be, in some measure remedied by the study and recita¬ 
tion of the orations of Demosthenes. They are decidedly superior 
to the speeches of Phillips or even Curran. The extract here 
given, is from Leland’s translation. It should be read or recited 
on rather a high key, and very emphatically. 


EXTRACT FROM CICERO’S SPEECH FOR 
CLUENTIUS. 

1. You, T. Attius, I know, had every where given 
it out, that I was to defend my client, not from facts, 
not upon the footing of innocence, but by taking ad¬ 
vantage merely of the law, in his behalf. Have I done 
so ? I appeal to yourself. Have I sought to cover 
him behind a legal defence only? On the contrary, 
have I not pleaded his cause as if he had been a sena¬ 
tor, liable, by the Cornelian law, to be capitally con¬ 
victed ; and shown that neither proof nor probable 
presumption lies against his innocence 1 

2. In doing so, I must acquaint you, that I have 
complied with the desire of Cluentius himself. For 



FOR EXERCISES. 


29?) 

\vhen he first consulted me in this cause, and when I 
informed him, that it was clear no action could be 
brought against him from the Cornelian law, he instantly 
besought and obtested me, that I would not rest his 
defence upon that ground ; saying, with tears in his 
eyes, that his reputation was as dear to him as his life ; 
and that what he sought, as an innocent man, was not 
only to be absolved from any penalty, but to be ac¬ 
quitted in the opinion of all his fellow-citizens. 

3. Hitherto, then, I have pleaded this cause upon his 
plan. But my client must forgive me, if now I shall 
plead it upon my own. For I should be wanting to 
myself, and to that regard which my character and 
station require me to bear to the laws of the State, if I 
should allow any person to be judged of by a law which 
does not bind him. 

4. You, Attius, indeed, have told us, that it was a 
scandal and reproach, that a Roman knight should be 
exempted from those penalties to which a senator, for 
corrupting judges, is liable. But I must tell you, that 
it would be a much greater reproach in a State that is 
regulated by law, to depart from the law. What 
safety have any of us in our persons ; what security 
for our rights, if the law shall be set aside ? 

5. By what title do you. Q. Naso, sit in that chair, 
and preside in this judgment ? By what right, T. 
Attius, do you accuse, or do I defend? Whence all 
the solemnity and pomp of judges, and clerks, and offi¬ 
cers, of which this house is full ? Does not all pro¬ 
ceed from the law, which regulates the whole depart¬ 
ments of the State ; which, as a common bond, holds 
its members together ; and, like the soul within the 
body, actuates and directs all the public functions ? 

6. On what ground, then, dare you speak lightly of 
the law, or move that, in a criminal trial, judges should 
advance one step beyond what it permits them to go? 
The wisdom of our ancestors has found, that as sena¬ 
tors and magistrates enjoy higher dignities, and 
greater advantages, than other members of the State, 
the law should also, with regard to them, be more 
strict; and the purity and uncorruptedness of their 


800 


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morals, be guarded by more severe sanctions. But if 
it be your pleasure that this institution should be al¬ 
tered ; if you wish to have the Cornelian law concern¬ 
ing bribery, extended to all ranks, then let us join, not 
in violating the law, but in proposing to have this al¬ 
teration made by a new law. 

7. My client, Cluentius, will be the foremost in this 
measure, who now, while the old law subsists, rejected 
its defence, and required his cause to be pleaded, as if 
he had been bound by it. But, though he would not 
avail himself of the law, you are bound in justice, not 
to stretch it beyond its proper limits. 

In the ancient republics, especially in Rome, durirg the days of 
Cicero, “the laws ruled men, and not men, the laws.” It ought 
to be so in modern republics. Obedience to the laws of the land, 
is the first, second, and last quality of a good citizen. Patriotism 
consists chiefly in upholding and sustaining, at all times, and un¬ 
der all circumstances, ‘‘the supremacy of the laws.” If we tram¬ 
ple them down in the dust, we strike away ail the pledges of our 
common safety. Cicero’s speech inculcates sound doctrine in 
favor of obeying ths laws. It requires considerable energy in its 
elocution. 












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